


Different, Not Defective

by Awesomelyglorious



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Autism, Autism Spectrum, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomelyglorious/pseuds/Awesomelyglorious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone said Harry was different, but what if the differences were more than just surviving the killing curse? What if Harry had Autism?</p><p>This story explores how the wizarding world reacts and adapts to The Boy Who Lived to be a Bit Different Than What They Expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sorting

Harry Potter was stressed. 

He had managed to get from King’s Cross station to Hogwarts without a meltdown, but just barely. 

The news of being “sorted” had pushed him to a breaking point.

He eyed the hat warily.

He did not like new. He did not like experiencing the unknown, at least not when he couldn’t learn about it first. He did not like change. He did not like crowds. He did not like it when they jostled him, poked him, touched him. He had tried to stay on the outside of the group, but he kept being pulled back into the middle by Ron. He didn’t want to complain. It was nice to have a friend, but he wished Ron had taken him more seriously when he said he didn’t like being touched. 

His nerves were making him hypersensitive to the noise in the room, and his ears were starting to ring with all of the shouting going on. 

“Why is everyone shouting?” he asked Ron, who just gave him a weird look. 

“No one is shouting, Harry,” Ron whispered. “It’s just people whispering. You alright, mate?”

Harry shrugged and nodded, which seemed to satisfy Ron.

At that moment, the hat started to sing. Loudly. Off key. 

It was too much for Harry to handle and his hands flew up to cover his ears. He sighed with relief as they dampened the noise. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit more. The room was awfully bright, after all, and there was so much to look at all at once. 

He started to hum under his breath, willing the sorting ceremony to get over faster. The humming helped cancel out even more of the noise, and helped sooth his overtaxed nerves. Without realizing it, he started to rock back and forth on his toes, the gentle motion calming him even further, lulling him into a safe place.

He was vaguely aware of names being called, and he felt the crowd around him thinning out, but it was still too much noise, too much new, too much change for Harry to stop the self-comforting behavior. 

Suddenly, he was aware of two things: the noise had stopped completely, and strong hands were grasping his shoulders.

His eyes flew open in shock. 

Oh no.

Everyone was staring at him. 

He heard snickering, and his face colored slightly. His eyes immediately sought the floor.

Great, he thought, wringing his hands in a desperate bid to relieve the anxiety. His first few minutes at a new school and he had already painted a target on himself. 

A hand lifted his chin, and he found himself looking at a severe-looking man dressed all in black. 

Severus Snape had watched the boy from the moment the group of first years stepped into the Great Hall. He had seen the boy’s face go from uncertain to anxious to overwhelmed, and had watched with quiet curiosity as Harry struggled to handle the massive amount of sensory overload. 

Upon learning that The Boy Who Lived had accepted his place at Hogwarts, Snape had, like all Hogwart’s faculty, been made aware that Harry Potter was a bit different than the other students. The boy, his primary school records said, was Autistic. Unfamiliar with the term and dissatisfied with the dry clinical language in the boy’s file (what on earth was a 32 on the CAR Scale?), Snape had planted himself in a muggle library for a week to learn about these “differences.” If he was going to protect the boy, he was going to know exactly what to expect. He now considered himself somewhat of an expert on the subject, but still found himself lost when it came to knowing how to help Harry integrate into his new world. 

What he did know was that whatever difficulties the boy had in other areas of his life, Harry had a prodigious aptitude for chemistry, a skill set that Snape was sure to carry over into a love for potion making. At only 11, the boy was, according to his school records, preparing to take the A-Level chemistry course. He also knew Harry was, based on a read-between-the-lines look over the incident reports included by the school, bullied relentlessly and mercilessly, and as such was very withdrawn and unsure of himself. 

Snape saw a bit of himself in the boy, despite Harry’s strong resemblance to his bastard of a father, and took a sort of perverse pleasure in the irony: the son of a bully was the target of bullies. For all his rabid animosity towards that man, however, Snape knew that he could never--and would never--let Harry come to harm, and had promised as much to Dumbledore. 

Remembering those words, Snape watched as Harry was no longer able to handle the newness, the changes, the noise, the unknown. When Harry started rocking back and forth, Snape sighed. They should have known this would happen. That the boy had managed to get to Hogwarts without incident was impressive. 

He glared at the back of Professor’s MacGonagall’s head. She had completely ignored the boy’s distress, and only seemed to realize something was wrong when he failed to respond to his name being called. The longer Harry failed to make his way to the sorting hat, the more people began to realize something was wrong. He watched as the kids around Harry stepped back and stared at him, uncertain as to what was going on. 

Snape was certain not one of them had any experience with Autism, and he could see the uncertainty turn to fear. Before the fear could be acted upon by some of the more cruel members of the student body, Snape found himself walking across the floor, stopping in front of Harry.

The boy startled when Snape grabbed his shoulders. A few students dared snicker, and Snape could see the shame and resignation in Harry’s eyes. He knew Harry wouldn’t maintain eye contact, and he wasn’t about to force it. 

“Harry,” he started in a calm, low voice only Harry could hear. “Harry, it is okay. It’s loud in here, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, his eyes downcast. 

“It’s your turn to be sorted now, do you know what that means?” Snape asked. 

Harry shook his head.

“It means you are going to sit on this stool,” Snape said in that same low voice as he led Harry to the front of the room.

“And Professor McGonagall will place the sorting hat upon your head like this.” 

Giggles and snickers erupted from the room as Snape had Professor McGonagall place the hat on his head, to show Harry what would happen. 

Snape shot a scathing glare at the student body, who immediately shut up.

“Okay,” Harry said, gritting himself for the hat’s unpleasant voice to accost his ears.

He felt the hat placed on his head and--yep, there was the voice. Harry was surprised to note that the hat was no longer screaming off-key.

Thank goodness for that, he thought. 

You’re very welcome, Mr. Potter. 

Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you? 

Harry thought desperately of the colors he had spied on the wall: green, red, yellow, blue. He was sure no one would understand, that he would be laughed at, the same as always, but he just could not be green. Not green. Not green. Not green. I can’t wear green. Green hurts. Green is a hateful color. Not green. 

Not Green, eh? Are you sure? That rules out Slytherin. You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that. No? 

Please, please. Anything but green, anything but green. Harry knew he was being irrational, but he just could not stand the color green. 

Well if you're sure, better be... GRYFFINDOR! 

The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of noise, and Harry, badly startled by the outburst, bolted from the stool to the corner of the room behind the faculty table. He stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes again, humming, hands wringing themselves into and out of different patterns. 

The school gawked.

Snape sighed again, and then made his way to the frightened boy. 

Behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall call out another name for sorting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.


	2. Meeting Professor Snape

Snape ignored the eyes boring into the back of his head. He had made sure to step between the stares and the boy, and was calmly waiting for Harry to calm himself down to the point where Snape would not be viewed as a threat.

Snape was beginning to think he was the only person on staff who read anything about Autism and Harry outside of what was presented from the boy's primary school. If the others had, they either didn't appreciate that the difficulties were "invisible" or they misjudged Harry's coping skills. If Snape had been allowed his way, the boy would have been allowed to visit the school before term started in order to acclimate himself to the new environment-and to the magical world in general.

Snape cringed when he recalled Hagrid's tale of Harry's visit to Diagon Alley. Not that he blamed Harry for "acting out," as Dumbledore had called it. If he had been dragged from a neat, controlled, explainable world into a place like Diagon Alley without any warning, he would have "acted out," too. In Snape's opinion, Hagrid had been the wrong person to send in the first place. Well, what was done, was done, and it served everyone better to focus on how to prevent issues in the future.

Snape realized Potter had stopped his humming and was now looking around the hall with interest. His hands were still, though he was slightly rocking.

"Sorry," Harry muttered as he registered Snape's presence.

"You need not apologize for something that isn't your fault." said Snape. "It's time for supper. Let's go sit down."

The boy balked and Snape caught a plaintive look towards the door.

"On second thought, let's take a walk and go over a few things, shall we, Mr. Potter?" Snape said as he gestured towards to the door.

He would take advantage of the empty halls and quiet corridors while had them, and now was a better time than later to introduce Harry to some of the more obnoxious quirks of living in an enchanted castle. It would also give him the needed privacy to talk about some of the accommodations the staff was making so that the boy would be on more equal footing with his-he paused as he searched for the word the Muggles used-neurotypical classmates.

Harry grinned. He decided he liked magic after all. This teacher is a mind-reader, he thought, not realizing that Snape was, after years of teaching and spying, incredibly astute at reading body language.

As they made their way past the house tables, Snape could hear the whisperings and muted giggles. And then he heard the word. He hoped Harry hadn't heard it, but the way the boy's shoulders dropped and hunched inward told him otherwise.

"Retard."

It had come, not from the Gryffindor ilk as he had expected, but from Slytherin.

Snape glared.

"10 points from Slytherin," he snarled at the Slytherin table, "and if I hear that word used in that context again, it will be another 10 points. Per syllable."

His house gaped at him. The offending student started to speak again, but was cut off.

"Not. Another. Word." He spat out before turning smartly on his heels and stalking out of the Great Hall with Harry in tow.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Harry struggling a bit to keep up until Snape shortened his stride.

"I'm not, you know," Harry said finally.

They stopped.

"Not what, Mr. Potter?" Snape inquired, although he suspected he knew already.

"What they said, what they called me. I am not retarded." Harry's voice trailed off to a whisper, as though he didn't really believe those words himself. "Before-before I found chemistry, they thought I was. Finding Dudley's book was the best thing that happened to me. Now they know I am not."

"Well, the best thing until Hogwarts," he amended, and glanced up at Snape.

"Potter, I am aware, as are all the teachers and staff at this school, that you are not, as you say, 'retarded.'" Severus looked down at the boy, who seemed to brighten a bit at that pronouncement.

"Tell me about this 'chemistry' that you love so much," Snape said as he started walking again.

An hour later, he regretted that statement. The boy had chattered non-stop about biochemistry and organic chemistry and atoms, elements, molecules, compounds, bases, acids, and energy. Snape was lost fairly quickly, his crash course of the subject via a textbook purchased at Muggle bookstore rendered quite useless after a few minutes of the boy's lecture.

No, Snape mused. More like the boy's monologue. He never stopped to ask Snape if he understood, or to see if he needed clarification. He was sure that Harry wasn't even aware that Severus had stopped following along over half an hour ago. Not that Snape minded. He and the Hogwarts staff would work with Harry on conversation skills later. Right now, Snape just wanted the boy to feel comfortable.

As they walked the castle, Snape interrupted Harry to point out his classrooms, the entrance to his house's common room, the moving staircases-oh, the boy hated those! Snape had to hold Harry in a bear hug to keep him from bolting and hurting himself. "Will they always do that?" Harry had asked tearfully once he had stopped fighting Snape and calmed down.

"Yes."

He half expected Harry to melt down right there, but the boy just sat there for a few minutes. "Is there anything that isn't magic like that at this school?"

Snape was delighted to answer this question.

"Potions."

"Potions?" Harry echoed.

"Chemistry."

At that, the boy completely forgot about the staircase.

"Science," he stated matter-of-factly, "is the best kind of magic because it isn't magic at all if you understand it." Harry's eyes grew huge and his hands flew to his mouth, covering it as though he had said something terrible.

Snape grinned in spite of himself and stood up, dusting off his knees. "I happen to agree with you."

And suddenly the hallway was filled with loud voices. Dinner was over. As they were right next to the Gryffindor common room, Snape decided to just wait for McGonagall and her lion pride to appear.

Then out of curiosity, as much to pass the time, he asked "Harry, why do you not like the color green?" He immediately regretted it, as the boy started rocking back forth on his toes, clearly agitated.

"Oh, I hate green. Loathe green. Detest, abhore, despise, and dislike green. No green. Mustn't wear green. Cannot eat green." Harry said in a monotone. "Green hurts. Green is hateful. Green is bad. Green kills."

Snape placed his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Green kills?' he questioned, slightly reticent to push the subject, not wanting to upset the boy to a repeat performance of his behavior during the Sorting.

"Green kills. Yes, green kills." Harry was rocking faster now, shaking his head and wringing his hands. "Flash of green. Always a flash of green. And then dead. Do not like green. Will not wear green. Cannot eat green. No green. No green. No-"

Harry stopped the mantra as Snape enveloped him in another bear hug. Harry seemed to like the deep pressure of a bear hug and did not fight it or shy away from it like he did with less deliberate touches, like being brushed up against in a crowd.

"No green," Snape stated and let go. He could hear the tramping of feet coming their way. He thought it best for Harry to meet his housemates as normally as possible, and being seen wrapped in a bear hug by the school's most feared professor would certainly not be considered normal. Snape hoped that Harry's behavior in the Great Hall would be brushed aside or forgotten by his housemates, or, if it wasn't, that Snape's behavior towards Harry and those who chose to tease or torment him would be remembered.

"Thank you," Harry said, "for telling that boy not to call me that. It won't do anything, though. People will still call me that."

He glanced at Snape and quickly looked away.

"They always do. Worse things, even. Words hurt, you know. Worse than being hit."

Snape sighed. He did know, more than the boy realized.

"I know a bit what it is like to be bullied, Potter," Severus said quietly.

Harry looked shocked. Before Snape could explain, the boisterous group of Gryffindors rounded the corner and Professor McGonagall made her way to where Harry and Snape were waiting.


	3. Welcome to Gryffindor House

Snape and Harry stood off to the side as McGonagall ushered her house into their common room, issuing instructions for the prefects to get everyone settled. A small red-headed boy-probably a Weasley, he thought.-and a bushy-haired girl tried to linger in the hallway, but Professor McGonagall was having none of it.

"But we're Harry's friends!" the Weasley boy protested as Professor McGonagall pushed him into the room.

"Night, Harry! See you-"

The portrait swung closed, muting the girl's voice.

Severus still had his hand on Harry's shoulder, and felt the boy tense up as Professor McGonagall turned her attention to them. He was pleased, however, to note that Harry's face had brightened considerably at the Weasley boy's words. He suspected that friendship was something Harry hadn't experienced much of in his life, and as much as he loathed teaching the Weasley brats, he knew that they were a very loyal, friendly bunch. And the girl-Granger, he remembered, from the few sortings he had paid attention to before focusing on Harry-she was a Muggle, so she probably had more of an inkling of Harry's uniqueness than any other student in the school.

It was a good thing. It meant Harry wasn't going to be alone.

"Professor Snape." said Professor McGonagall.

"Good evening, Professor," Snape said.

"Hello, Harry," said McGongall, bending down into the boy's line of sight.

Harry immediately turned his head to end the eye contact.

"Hello. My name is Harry. What is your name?" Harry asked.

Professor McGonagall stood up, a faint smile on her face.

"Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall, and I am your head of house."

The boy just stared somewhat blankly past her shoulder, resolutely avoiding all attempts on McGonagall's part to force eye contact.

"That means, Harry," she began, "that I am in charge of your well-being while you are here at school. Now, before I send you into Gryffindor Tower, I'd like to go over what we are going to be doing to make the transition from your old school to Hogwarts as painless as possible. Would that be okay?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Follow me. Severus, you may come, too, if you wish." And she started walking briskly down the hall towards what Snape could only assume was her office.

Snape smirked as Harry practically had to run to keep up, stumbling slightly as his feet caught on his robes as he went. He wondered if the boy would trip and fall, but he needn't have worried. By the time they reach McGonagall's office, Harry had seemingly mastered the fine art of running in wizard robes.

"Have a seat, Harry," she said, pointing towards one of two chairs in front of the desk. Snape wondered if she was going to sit behind the desk, but was surprised to see her instead take the seat opposite Harry. For his part, Snape sank into a small couch in the corner where he could observe the boy's face freely.

Professor McGonagall pointed to a plate of sandwiches sitting within arm's reach of Harry, and made sure he knew he was allowed to eat them. Snape lazily summoned a sandwich as well, amused at the look of awe Harry gave him.

Uncharacteristically, and he would never be sure quite why he did it afterwards, Snape winked at the boy, who smiled a shy smile before happily tearing into the pile of food.

He listened and watched as Harry struggled to take in all the information Minerva was throwing at him, but was pleased to see that McGonagall had a firm grasp on Harry, his differences, and the challenges he and the school would face together. He knew that the inattentiveness during the Sorting Ceremony would never happen again, and that Harry Potter would be protected and defended by his new housemates. It might take them a bit of getting used to Harry, but Snape knew the Gryffindor Head of House would swiftly and ferociously nip any negative behavior in the bud.

For his part, Snape knew he would be having a meeting with his House, as their behavior at the feast demonstrated an appalling lack of civility. He wouldn't demand they befriend the Gryffindor, but he would be damned if he would allow his house to torment the boy for being a bit different.

He was also curious to see the affect Harry Potter's rigid attention to rules would have on the normally unruly Gryffindor House. He could hardly see Harry willingly sneaking around the corridors after hours. He knew that the boy was obsessive about keeping time, too, and had the hardest time tolerating lateness or earliness or anything but exactness when it came being where he was supposed to be.

He watched as Harry absentmindedly played with the pocket watch Minerva had presented him. It was charmed to tell not only what time it was, but when and where his next destination was. If he was in the Gryffindor common room at 7AM, it would show Harry that he needed to be at the Great Hall for breakfast at 8AM. It was a simple way to easy Harry's anxiety about time as well as provide him with a constantly-updated look at his schedule-a schedule that would be changed only by his head of house herself.

"Now, in regards to classes-" Professor McGonagall trailed off as she realized Harry was not paying attention.

"Mr. Potter!" she snapped, causing the boy to startle and nearly drop his precious pocket watch. He shrank back in his chair.

"Sorry, Professor. You were getting boring is all, and I am rather tired." Harry said.

Snape allowed an eyebrow to raise at the boy's statement.

"Mr. Potter, it is not polite to tell someone they are boring you, and it is especially not acceptable to talk to a teacher in such a fashion," huffed McGongall.

Snape smirked. He liked the boy's bluntness, preferred it, actually. No guesswork to figure out where you stood in Potter's eyes.

"In which fashion, Professor?" Harry asked timidly, obviously aware he had done something wrong but wasn't quite sure what it was. "And can I go to bed, please? I normally go to bed at 9PM but it is 10PM already and I am tired."

His voice was now petulant, and Snape could tell he was nearing the end of whatever self-control he had left after such a trying day. Thankfully, McGonagall picked up on that as well.

"What I meant, Harry," she said a bit more softly, "was that you need to be more respectful when talking to your teachers."

The boy looked confused.

"But I wasn't rude. I didn't call you old, even though you have grey hair," Harry said, clearly certain he was pleading his case well, not making it harder on himself. "It is rude to call people with grey hair old people, so I didn't. But you were boring. And I am tired. That is the truth."

Severus wanted to laugh at the look of shock and uncertainty on McGonagall's face. She sighed, and flicked her wand.

"I am sorry you are tired, Harry. I did not realize what time it was. Thank you for being patient."

Harry flashed her a brilliant smile.

"You are welcome, Professor," he said. "Can I go now?"

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Professor McGonagall had been about to say.

"Yes. You may go with Mr. Weasley. He is a prefect and you are to listen to what he tells you to do. Do you understand that, Mr. Potter?" asked McGonagal.

Harry nodded. He paused at the doorway, looking in Severus's direction.

Severus just watched the boy, not sure what was going on.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Harry said, again not quite making eye contact. And before waiting for a response, he scampered off to the door where he followed his house prefect down the hall. Snape listened as the boy's voice carried through the corridor. "Hi! My name is Harry. What is your name?"

The door closed and Minerva turned to him.

"He's taken to you, you know," she started.

Snape cut her off, suddenly impatient and ready for bed himself.

"I am aware. It is hardly surprising given what happened in the hall and during our walk in the halls."

He stared pointedly at McGonagall, who at least had the decency to look a bit ashamed.

"I can only hope that tomorrow everyone is ready for what will happen. We can plan ahead all we like, but children-" he snarled, remembering his own years at Hogwarts- "but children are unpredictable little monsters, and you and I both know that tonight was just a small taste of what will happen."

And with that, he stalked out of her office and down to his own, missing the understanding look that crossed McGonagall's face.


	4. Potions

Snape stalked towards his classroom, the beginning of a headache starting behind his eyes. It was Friday, and the previous four days of miserably stupid dunderheads exploding or melting things in his classroom made him wish for a strong drink.

Friday meant it was a double class with Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

Snape grimaced at the thought, his headache becoming more pronounced. He was definitely going to need a drink after today.

Throwing open the classroom door, he marched to the front of the room and appraised the students. Over the years, he had perfected the entrance and knew he made a dramatic and alarming sight that, when coupled with the stories about him the students had already been told by upperclassmen, sent the fear of god into the first years. It was an effective method of classroom management, and commanded immediate, absolute attention.

Usually.

As his eyes glanced over the classroom he knew he would be having trouble with this group. While most of the students were staring at him with wide eyes, a small group of Gryffindors and-he was displeased to see-Slytherins were huddled conspiratorially together in the back of the classroom, with small wolfish grins plastered on their face as though they were sharing an inside joke. And they probably were. Members of his own house, even! This just would not do, not in his classroom.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape started in a deadly quiet voice. The entire classroom tensed and he was pleased to see he had managed to startle the troublemakers who, for their part, managed to look reasonably chagrined and guilty.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Snape glared at Malfoy, issuing a nonverbal challenge when Malfoy dared give him a reproachful look. As though Snape was going to allow his house to disrespect him in his own classroom no matter who his father was. Malfoy backed down and shrugged.

"No? Let's try again. Mr. Finnigan," he said, addressing the Gryffindor closest to Malfoy. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

At least the Gryffindor managed to blush and slouch down in his seat before shaking his head. Snape doubted he would be disrupting his class again. The rest of the group of boys managed to avoid Snape's wrath only because a small voice near the front of the classroom had interrupted Snape's train of thought. Harry Potter.

"Sir, the first one is the Drought of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion. But I don't understand why they call it that because it doesn't kill you, does it? It just puts you to sleep. And the second one, you find it in a goat stomach, and it acts as an antidote for almost every poison. But on that one, I don't know why it works that way. It's fascinating, really, isn't it, that a rock from a goat's stomach can do all of that."

The classroom got very quiet and everyone tensed up, waiting to see Snape's response. Even the idiot Gryffindor, Finnegan, looked up to see what would happen. Snape was silent for a few moments. He didn't like to be interrupted, but at the same time, the information provided was accurate. He decided to address the lack of classroom etiquette later.

"Correct, Mr. Potter." He was pleased to see Harry sit up a little bit straighter in his seat. From what he had heard from the boy's other professors earlier in the week, Harry was probably more used to being reprimanded in class rather than praised.

"Well, why isn't everyone writing that down?" Snape challenged, and the room was filled with the rustling of parchment and quills as terrified students started taking notes.

"As Mr. Potter pointed out," said Snape, once again in his element. "it is fascinating. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

Snape looked at Harry, who had his eyes half closed. If he hadn't known better, Snape would have thought the boy was being rude. As it was, he knew Harry was listening with rapt attention to every word, his eyes closed as a way of filtering out visual stimuli. As for taking notes, he knew the boy had been given a dicti-quill, charmed to record his professors' voices and automatically transcribe their lectures. The staff decided that it was less intrusive for Harry to use the quill rather than have an older student sit in each class and take notes for him. Snape took in the boy's messy hair and wondered, somewhat uncharitably, if the boy's trouble with motor skills extended to using a comb.

"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Snape looked pointedly at Malfoy, who had the decency to sit a little lower in his chair. Snape took note of the offenders. The smug little cretins would all be getting detention this evening. And his Slytherins, well, they would be getting a verbal dressing down that would make You-Know-Who quiver in his boots. He would find out what was going on. It was far too suspicious to have Gryffindors and Slytherins acting so chummy.

He split the class up into pairs for the practical portion, making sure to match Harry with the Weasley boy. He knew that Harry preferred working alone, but he hoped that pairing him with a friend would make him less likely to get frustrated. He also thought that Harry's natural ability in the subject would make it easier to handle dealing with another person. A vision of the Weasley twins in years past popped into Snape's head. Hopefully, Harry would prevent this particular Weasley from exploding anything.

He swept around the classroom, his long black robes adding a certain menace to his countenance that he quite enjoyed, correcting students who were doing things wrong-there was quite a lot of that, actually. He grimaced. This was a very simple potion and the students were already mucking it up. He made his way to Harry's table and peered into the cauldron, unsurprised to see a perfect boil-curing potion.

"Well done, Mr. Potter." Snape began, only to be interrupted by a loud hissing noise. He barely registered Harry's hands covering his ears before he realized that the idiot Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan, had managed to melt their cauldron, sending acid green smoke billowing throughout the classroom as their potion seeped along the floor. The two boys were covered in red boils where their skin came in contact with whatever they had managed to create before it exploded all over them, and were moaning in pain.

"Ms. Granger," Snape snapped. "Please escort these two to the hospital wing."

He banished the potion with a flick of his wand and returned the cauldron to it's pre-Neville state.

"Oh, and Mr. Finnigan," he said as the boy limped out of the classroom. "Detention this weekend. You, too, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, and Mr. Thomas."

Snape smirked at the boys' visible outrage.

"Class dismissed."

He went back to his desk and wrote up a report of the detentions to give to McGonagall, not paying attention to the students leaving his classroom. It took a few minutes to register that the classroom was not as empty or as quiet as it should be, and he looked up. There was Harry, silently rocking with his eyes screwed shut and his hands over his ears, and next to him was Ron, looking slightly awkward, but quietly waiting for Harry. To his credit, he seemed to understand that Harry was just upset and wasn't going to push the issue.

Snape made his way over to the pair. He had an idea of what caused Harry's reaction, but wasn't about to make the moment more uncomfortable by discussing Harry in front of his friend. If Harry wanted to talk about things to Ron, that was Harry's prerogative, not Snape's.

"Mr. Weasley, get to class."

He raised his eyebrows in warning as Ron was about to argue with him.

"I will make sure Harry gets to where he needs to go." Snape amended.

Still unsure, but unwilling to argue with a professor, especially his feared potions professor, Ron left.

Snape pinched his nose, his headache coming back at full force. This was not how he had intended the day to begin.


	5. Flying Lessons

Severus swore under his breath. It took ten minutes, a bear hug, and some softly spoken words of encouragement in Harry's ear before Snape deemed him calm enough to leave the safety of the potions classroom. He had escorted Harry to his next class, and stayed to observe from the shadows. If it had been any other student, Snape swore he wouldn't have cared, but the moment he realized the boy was going to his flying lessons, he couldn't help but worry. Madam Hooch, excellent coach though she was, could hardly be expected to adequately supervise a class full of rambunctious brats, let alone a class with Harry Potter and the same group of miscreants that had been up to no good in his potions class.

No, Snape decided. He would wait and watch. If anything, it would hopefully give him more reason to hand out detentions.

Harry had found his way to a spot between his two friends, Weasley and Granger, and Snape could tell he was nervous. Harry's hands were back to weaving their intricate patterns as he looked around the field. Snape found himself relaxing as Potter appeared to be one of only a few students able to call the broom to them. Perhaps his fears were ungrounded. Perhaps flying, like chemistry, was an innate skill of Harry's. Severus was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a crash and turned to see Madam Hooch pulling a student towards the infirmary.

Not Harry, thankfully, but the idiot Gryffindor Longbottom who had also managed to explode his cauldron. No surprise, really. Longbottom was a menace. Snape's eyes wandered back to the students on the field, and narrowed at the sight of a four or five boys surrounding Harry Potter. Quelling the urge to immediately run out there, Severus watched to see how the boy would defend himself. He didn't condone bullying, but at the same time, it wouldn't do anyone-especially Harry-any good to coddle the boy and leap to his defense at every perceived threat or insult. After all, despite the boy's differences, he was still The Boy Who Lived and needed to be prepared for a world that was out to get him.

The scuffle went airborne, and Snape swore his heart stopped as he watched Harry practically brain himself on the castle wall. Yes, Snape thought drily, it seemed that not only was Harry a natural flyer, he was a gifted Seeker in the rough. It meant the Slytherin Quidditch team would have a hard time of it once Potter was on the Gryffindor squad, but it also meant that Harry would be able to fit in just a bit more.

He stepped out of the shadows. Enough was enough.

"Well, well, well," Snape said, his voice silky and dangerous. Most of the students jumped at his voice. "I was under the impression that you were not to fly unsupervised. Was this not the case?"

Silence.

"Mr. Malfoy, is it true that you were instructed to remain on the ground until Madam Hooch returned?"

Snape glared at Malfoy until the blond nodded.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape asked.

"Hello. I am Harry," said the boy. "How are you?"

Snape allowed his confusion to show on his face for a split second before realizing the boy was not being deliberately obtuse or cheeky.

"Hello, Harry. I am fine. You, however, need to answer my questions, okay?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded, allowing his hands to start flitting about. "I can answer questions," he said.

Snape nodded. "Were you instructed to remain on the ground until Madam Hooch returned?"

"No"

"No?" Snape asked, surprise clearly evident in his voice. Was Harry going to start lying to him? Over flying?

"She said to leave the brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch." Harry recited.

"Did she now?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then why were you flying, Mr. Potter?"

"My broom was in my hand, Professor Snape." Harry said. "It didn't move and it stayed where it was, which was in my hand."

Snape heard several students gasp, although he was certain the boy was not being the smart-aleck his classmates thought he was.

"Mr. Potter," he started. "Why were you flying?"

"Because that boy stole my friend's ball and was going to break it." Harry said, pointing at Malfoy. Malfoy simply sneered.

"Harry, that is not an excuse to ignore a teacher." Snape's headache was returning.

"I didn't ignore a teacher. She said to leave the brooms where they were!" Harry shouted.

"5 points from Gryffindor for shouting, Mr. Potter."

He was loathe to do it, loathe to give the boy's housemate's cause to turn against him, but Harry could not be subjected to a different set of rules than the rest of his classmates, either. Snape could see that Harry followed the letter of the law and missed the spirit of it, but that was hardly his fault. Snape would be following up with Madam Hooch to explain how to give directions to Harry, but for right now, he needed the boy to understand that rules had been broken. And if he played it just right, Harry's fellow Gryffindor's would turn their anger on Evil Professor Snape for picking on Harry rather than on Harry himself.

"I wasn't shouting! And she said to leave them where they were. And he was going to steal my friend's ball! Steal it! Stealing is wrong! W-R-O-N-G. Wrong!'

Snape nodded, noting nasty looks being shot his direction from a few of the more obnoxious Gryffindors. Good, they were focusing on him, not Harry.

"Stealing is wrong. 5 points from Slytherin for stealing, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape smirked as Malfoy's housemates turned murderous, not at him, their Head of House, but at Malfoy.

"And detention, Mr. Potter, for continuing to shout at your teacher."

Harry quit speaking all at once. His face crumpled and he turned and ran to the castle. He didn't get very far, Snape noticed. He practically ran into Professor McGonagall. Snape matched the glare she shot his direction and simply nodded. He knew Minerva would come speak to him later, especially about the detention. She would need to know when and where so as to change Harry's watch. He waited until McGonagall walked into the castle with Harry and then turned on the class.

"5 points from Gryffindor for not keeping a classmate on the ground," Snape spat, his sneer in full force.

"Hey! It's not our fault that re-" the Gryffindor snapped his mouth shut but the damage had been done. Snape slowly turned to face the boy, amused to see how quickly the other students moved away.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" snarled Snape, as he grabbed the offending student by the shoulder. "The rest of you, go to your common rooms. Class is over!" Snape leaned down close to the student trying to wrench himself from his grasp.

"Mr. Thomas," he hissed. "I believe the Headmaster is going to need to see you."

The boy's face went ashen and Snape was disgusted to see tears start flowing.

"Sniveling makes you look weak, Mr. Thomas. Are you weak? Is that why you pick on those who can't defend themselves? You disgust me."

He dragged the boy into the castle, ignoring his pleas for forgiveness until they reached the Headmaster's office.

"Shut up," he snapped in final warning as he knocked on the Headmaster's door. Finally, the whining excuse for a student shut his mouth and appeared to resign himself to the horrible fate that awaited him. Snape rolled his eyes at the thought, and smirked at the frightened eleven year old rubbing the tears from his eyes.


	6. Detention

Harry ran his hand along the wall of the dungeon corridors, enjoying the feel of cold stone brushing across his fingers as he made his way down to Professor Snape's classroom. It was for detention, as Professor McGonagall had explained to him as she adjusted his pocket watch earlier that afternoon. For shouting at a teacher. He hadn't meant to shout, but nobody was listening to him! The blond boy had stolen his friend's ball and was going to break it. And Professor Snape had said untrue things. Harry paused. That wasn't quite true. He remembered that Professor McGonagall had explained what Madame Hooch meant by her instructions, instructions Harry had misunderstood because of how his brain worked. Professor McGonagall had made sure he knew that he wasn't getting in trouble for that, though. Professor Snape had given him detention for shouting at a teacher, something he could control, not misinterpreting poorly worded instructions.

He sulked as he continued walking down the corridor, the rough stone soothing his fingertips as he went. It was a rather pleasant sensation, almost as nice as running his hand along chain link fencing. He had hoped that coming to a magic world would make him less of a freak, less of a target, but it just seemed to make things worse. Finding out he was a wizard had explained some of the stranger things he'd been able to do, but it didn't make him normal. The only thing magic had changed was where he lived and went to school. He was still different, still broken, still "Handicapped Harry" or "Har-tard" like his cousin and the kids at school always called him. Magic didn't make it easier for him to understand people. He still couldn't tell figurative from literal. His socks still had to be worn inside out because the seam still itched his toes.

Magic didn't make it so he was able to tie his shoes instead of wearing velcro like a baby, he finished in the voice Dudley and his gang used. He couldn't even move his wand the way his books showed him, so magic didn't fix whatever made it hard for him to write or use scissors or button up buttons. Magic didn't make it so he could tie his tie. He had to have a Prefect help him with that and his buttons. Harry flushed as he remembered Dean and Seamus from his dorm room laughing at him after they saw Percy help him with his shirt and tie. Percy had made them shut up and had even taken points, but once Percy had gone, they had started up again. Harry didn't like it, but accepted it. Professor McGonagall told him that Gryffindor House was his family while he was at school. The Dursleys always made fun of him instead of being nice like families on the television or movies, so it made sense that his Hogwarts family would be that same way. He still liked it when Ron or Hermione made people stop being mean to him, though. In that respect, he had a family like on the television.

It seemed to Harry that the magic people even seemed to blame him for being so weird. His Hogwarts teachers didn't seem to understand why he was having such trouble using a wand. They kept saying he just wasn't trying hard enough because surely The Boy Who Lived wouldn't have any sort of issue with magic. Harry hated it when people called him that. He didn't understand it, for one, and for two, it was like they were seeing a fake Harry, not the real Harry. The fake Harry was the one they had made up in their minds, so when he couldn't get his wand to swish the right way it was that the real Harry was just being a spoiled lazy brat who wasn't trying hard enough.

It wasn't fair.

He was trying. He was trying hard. Harry figured that the only teacher at the school who didn't see Fake Harry was Professor Snape, and Harry was ashamed that he had shouted at him. Maybe now Professor Snape was going to see Fake Harry, too, even though Harry had no trouble at all with potions. Potions didn't need him to move his wand a certain way. Potions wasn't exactly like chemistry, but it was close enough. Harry read his entire textbook before potions class because he had wanted Professor Snape to see that Real Harry wasn't as big of a freak as the rest of the school seemed to think. He had wanted Professor Snape to keep being the calm understanding teacher who helped him get Sorted, and showed him around school, and who listened to Harry talk about chemistry for over an hour without getting annoyed.

It just simply wasn't fair.

"What isn't fair, Mr. Potter?" a silky voice asked, startling him.

Harry looked up from his feet and found himself staring at Professor Snape. He felt his cheeks flush when he realized he had said that out loud. He waited for Professor Snape to shout "look at me!" and grab his chin to force eye contact like his other teachers, but it never happened. His professor seemed to know that when people asked Harry to look at their eyes that he couldn't do anything else, not think, not talk, not anything but get frightened. But his Professor Snape did not force him to look at him, he just stood there, patiently waiting for Harry to speak. Harry smiled. Now he knew his Professor Snape would always see Real Harry even if there was shouting or crying or needing help with buttons and ties and wands.

"It isn't fair that magic doesn't fix me, Professor Snape," he said. And waited. And waited. Harry looked at his pocket watch and started counting the seconds, growing more and more nervous as seconds turned into a whole minute.

"That is because you aren't broken, Harry."

Harry frowned and furrowed his brow, trying to puzzle out what Professor Snape meant. Of course he wasn't broken! He had broken his arm before, and he knew what that felt like. He didn't feel that sharp pain that made him sick up and see stars, so nothing was broken. He remembered what Professor McGonagall had instructed him to do when he was confused about something.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor."

Instead of an answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder and found himself being guided inside the potions classroom. He took a seat at the bench closest to the blackboard in case he needed to read it, and was surprised to see Professor Snape pull up a stool and sit facing him.

"Why do think you need to be fixed, Harry?" his professor asked in a soft voice.

Harry liked that voice. It was a calm voice that set him immediately at ease. Harry had never heard a voice quite like it. And so Harry found himself telling his professor about Fake Harry and Real Harry, and how his Gryffindor family was like his real family, but that Ron and Hermione made it like a television family. He explained about buttons and ties and "Har-tard" and "Handicapped Harry" and velcro and how he couldn't get his wand to swish and flick like his books said. And he kept waiting for Professor Snape to interrupt him, to make him do something unpleasant for detention like Ron had said he would, but it never happened. Professor Snape just let him talk.


	7. Usually Fatal Curse

He hadn't planned on acting as a counselor this evening. When he asked Harry what was unfair, he was expecting a whining complaint about the issuance of a detention, not the thoughts of a boy who had listened to a world that told him he wasn't good enough, wasn't normal enough, wasn't the same as everyone else. He thought back to the papers he read, the ones that said things about kids like Harry being locked in their own world, incapable of understanding what was going on around them, and he shook his head at how wrong they were. Harry could tell the world didn't want him to be himself. Harry picked up that he was viewed as something less than rather than equal to. And Harry had hoped, not unreasonably, that the magical world would be different than his Muggle experiences only to find himself in an even more confusing and hostile place.

A world where people were literally trying to kill him.

Perhaps if the boy had not been Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, things would be different and people would more accepting of his differences. Perhaps the boy would be met halfway rather than expected to match the expectations of those who wished to use him as a weapon in the war. Perhaps his teachers would be more willing to work with the boy's strengths rather than constantly point out his weaknesses. There was no doubt that Harry had the makings of a powerful wizard; Dumbledore's reports of the boy's accidental magic were astounding: apparating to the top of a school when in danger? Most adult wizards couldn't manage that without practice, not if they didn't want to get splinched. What was in doubt was the ability of his teachers to take that raw talent and help mold it into what they wanted, what the wizarding world needed.

Snape shook his head. It wouldn't do to get caught up in thinking of What-Ifs and Might-Have-Beens. It wouldn't help anyone, especially not Harry. Snape knew Harry was struggling because of how he was being taught, not because he was the lazy, sloppy student his other teachers seemed to see. The boy was perfectly capable of learning magic if the right methods were used. If the current ones that worked for most students weren't working, then they obviously needed to try different methods. Harry needed patience and understanding, not pity, and definitely not any more voices telling him he wasn't good enough. What was that Muggle saying? Something about fitting a square peg in a round hole?

And those boys, his housemates, already ganging up on him-it made Snape a bit nervous, if he were to be honest with himself. Nervous because those boys were plotting things with boys from Slytherin, with Malfoy. Nothing good would come from that particular alliance, even if it did look completely innocent at the moment.

Severus sighed as Harry stopped his explanation of the atrocious behavior he had experienced at the hands of his peers and teachers, both Muggle and magical. He might not know exactly how Harry was feeling, but he certainly understood what it meant to be ostracized, belittled, bullied, and not wanted by anyone at home.

"Sir, I don't understand why people see a Fake Harry. Why don't they see the Real Harry?"

Snape paused.

"Harry, what do you know of how your mother-your parents-died? Of how you came to live your with aunt and how you got that scar on your forehead?"

Harry's brow furrowed and he became noticeably agitated. Severus grabbed Harry's hands and held them in his own. Harry seemed to appreciate the gesture and relaxed again, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Well, Aunt Petunia told me they died in a car crash, but Hagrid told me they were murdered by someone named Lord Vold-sorry, I forgot I am not supposed to say that name even though Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry" interjected Snape.

"Yeah, him. He said not saying the name gave it more power. I used to get awfully confused when people said 'You-Know-Who,' instead of the real name, but Professor Dumbledore explained it all. So Lord You-Know-Who killed my parents and tried to kill me."

Snape felt Harry's agitation and started tracing circles over the top of Harry's hands with his thumbs.

"But I didn't die. And Professor Dumbledore says it is because my mother loved me and that made it so I killed that bad man instead."

Snape waited to see if there was more, but the boy seemed done.

"Yes, the Dark Lord used the Killing Curse on you, but it rebounded and hit him instead. And you did the impossible that night, Harry. You are the only person who has survived the Killing Curse."

Harry giggled, and Snape raised his eyebrows. How was that funny?

"What is funny, Harry?" he asked.

"It shouldn't be called the Killing Curse then, should it, Professor Snape?" Harry asked. "Maybe it should be called the Usually Fatal Curse instead."

Snape swallowed the small smile that appeared, unbidden and unwelcome. He would allow that smile when Harry wasn't present, but for now, he was in Teacher Mode.

"Potter, you shouldn't laugh at death. It is uncouth, even if you have happened to achieve the impossible, or rather, given the outcome, the improbable."

Harry nodded, and Snape could almost see him filing that information away.

"It is because of those two events, your survival and your apparent defeat of the Dark Lord, that the wizarding world views you as a hero," continued Snape.

"The title they've bestowed upon you, and the resulting lens most have chosen to view you through rather than look at you as a normal boy, is how they recognize that act of ending the violence of the war. That scar on your forehead is the result of surviving the attack. That's the 'Fake Harry' you are referring to, is it not, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"There are people who see past all that, you know," Snape continued after a few moments.

"Yeah, Ron and Hermione," whispered Harry.

"Yes. Your friends do not see you as a symbol, Harry."

"But most people just see my scar, huh?"

"It is unfortunate, but yes, most people choose to see who they want you to be and do not bother themselves with looking at who you actually are."

There was no response from the boy, but Severus could tell he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. Snape started tracing circles on the boy's hands again.

"Is the scar why I am such a freak, Professor Snape?" asked Harry after a few false starts.

Snape felt his heart constrict at the forlorn expression on the boy's face, in the boy's eyes. No, he corrected himself, in Lily's eyes.

"Harry, do not refer to yourself that way."

"But-"

"No, Harry, you will not refer to yourself as a 'freak.'" Snape found himself growing angry at the Muggles that had dared instill such low self-worth in the boy, in Lily's boy.

"You are not a freak, Harry."

"Fine. Not a 'freak' then."

Harry wrenched his hands from Severus's and began pacing in the aisle between the work benches. Snape just watched. It would do neither of them any good to force physical contact; he was too agitated at the boy's miserable relatives and the boy wanted space.

"Is the scar why I am so different?" Harry asked again after a few more minutes of silence.

Snape sighed again. He thought he knew what Harry was asking.

"You mean, is surviving the Killing Curse why you have what Muggles call Autism, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"I-I do not know."

"Oh."

Snape felt that unfamiliar ache in his chest again at the boy's dejected tone.

"Harry, you are unique in the wizarding world."

Harry snorted.

"'Unique' is the word people use when it isn't polite to say 'weird' or 'stupid' or 'special,' Professor."

Snape winced at the boy's sneering tone.

"Be that as it may, in this case, I am using it to define you as being the only person in the wizarding world to have Autism. We had not heard of it until you accepted your place at Hogwarts. From what I have read, it seems quite prevalent amongst Muggles. You even attended a school chartered specifically to teach those with Autism, not unlike Hogwarts was commissioned to teach magic to young witches and wizards."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Snape interrupted him.

"Let me finish, Harry. Do you know much about genetics and heritability?"

The boy nodded. Snape allowed himself a small smile. Of course Harry knew about genetics. He was bound to have come across it while satisfying his insatiable curiosity of all things relating to chemistry. Harry probably understood more about genetics than he did, not that it would be difficult.

"Muggles also think there is a genetic origin. If this is true, then perhaps magic is the reason there are no other known witches or wizards with Autism. Perhaps magic acts in such a way as to nullify the mutation. This is just a theory, mind you, not a fact."

Harry nodded again.

"It is possible, then, that when you were hit with the Killing Curse it disrupted and changed your magic in such a way as to render it unable to behave as it would normally."

Snape paused. He hadn't voiced that theory to anyone until just then. It seemed plausible, but he had no way of disproving it and therefore no way to test for its scientific accuracy.

"So that means I will always be this way, won't I?"

"If by 'this way' you mean intelligent, determined, courageous, and unflinchingly honest, then yes, Harry, you will always be that way."

Snape was rewarded for his uncharacteristic praise with a breathtaking grin. Oh yes, he could definitely get used to those. The boy lost almost all semblance to his blasted father when he smiled liked that.

Wanting to end the evening on a high note, he decided against having Harry scrub the cauldrons he had meant for him to do that evening. It was nearing the end of their scheduled detention anyway, and he had no desire to cause Harry to have a meltdown by forcing him to stay later than his pocket watch was telling him.

After sending Harry on his way, Snape sat there, wondering why he, the greasy git of the dungeons, was the one Harry felt most comfortable talking to, and why he, the feared potions master, was the one who was willing and able to provide counsel and comfort to the Chosen One of the wizarding world.

Perhaps the boy could tell that he was able to look past the scar and see the real Harry.


	8. Because I Must

"I want to give Harry extra tutoring sessions each week, Minerva," Severus quietly said as the the weekly staff meeting drew to a close.

He had spent the last two hours listening to everyone list their litanies of woe about the start of term and mischievous students. Unsurprisingly, the Potter boy was on everyone's mind, and Snape had trouble controlling his temper as professor after professor maligned the boy's character and bemoaned the boy's magical ineptitude. If the situation wasn't so personal, Severus would have laughed at the irony. Harry Potter was the Golden Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived-Shatter-Expectations, and here he was being talked about as though he were practically a squib. He almost choked on his coffee when Professor Flitwick commented that Neville Longbottom had more magical ability than Mr. Potter.

Had McGonagall and Dumbledore not risen to Harry's defense, Snape would have lost his temper and hexed a few of his more vocal coworkers. As it was, Snape realized that while Albus and Minerva at least recognized Harry's potential, neither seemed able to connect with the boy enough to teach him. No, that honor was given to him, and him alone, and he would be damned if the ignorant and intolerant staff at Hogwarts denied Harry the education he clearly wanted, needed, and was capable of achieving.

"Are you sure, Severus?" McGonagall asked, just as quietly. "As much of a natural as he is at potion making, he does have obvious difficulty using his wand and his frustration has led to a few spectacular shows of temper."

Snape raised his eyebrow in response. He had been called into a few of the boy's classes already to help handle those bursts of temper until the staff learned to recognize the signs that Harry was losing control. He sighed, aware that he had demonstrated his own volatile temper and impatience quite regularly with students deemed less difficult than Harry. He didn't expect people to understand that he he could be quite patient with those who needed it while having zero tolerance for those who expected leniency for lazy behavior.

"Have you had any luck in curtailing the, ah, teasing Harry is receiving from Finnigan and Thomas?" he asked, changing the subject.

It was Minerva's turn to sigh.

"Harry won't say much, not that I expect him to. The Weasleys have taken him under their collective wings, and that support has stopped a lot of the more physical hazing that was occurring. I can't do much if Harry doesn't report anything. You know that, Severus."

Severus did know that. He also knew that Harry had been systematically taught by his abysmal excuse for relatives not to recognize mistreatment as mistreatment. He just chocked it up to how families were supposed to be outside of the Muggle contraption called a television. Growing up in an environment like the one provided by the Dursley's had effectively blinded Harry to what sort of behavior was appropriate and what was abusive. Internalizing their mistreatment and neglect had left him helpless to defend against most of the torment thrown his way. He just accepted it as normal while simultaneously demonstrating an inability to control the negative emotions such treatment evoked. How could he be expected to verbalize sadness and frustration if he didn't really understand what those meant?

"But what of his friends? Surely they report-"

"Oh, they do, Severus, but I can't prove who changed Harry's socks from white to green. I can't prove who tripped him in the hall on the way to class the other day. I can't see everyone who mocks his mannerisms, and neither can the prefects. Taking points has just driven the more obnoxious students underground, as it were. Harry has managed to make friends with just about everyone he meets, so most of the students look out for him."

Severus allowed a rare smile to grace his face. After the Welcoming Feast, the speech he had given to Slytherin House regarding Harry Potter had made his zero tolerance policy towards bullying and teasing perfectly clear. He had been pleased to see most of his students accept Harry as just a little bit odd, but not a threat. Malfoy and Co aside, his house had made him proud.

"Yes, I suppose it helps that when he meets someone the first words out of his mouth are now 'Hi, I'm Harry and I have an excellent smile. See?'" Severus allowed his grin to morph into a rendition of Harry's beaming smile.

McGonagall laughed.

"I believe Granger told him that, and he's taken to repeating it," she said.

"Back to the topic of tutoring, though, Minerva. I would like to see Harry at least three times a week in the evenings for one-on-one lessons. I think that a few hours after dinner will suffice for now. He might be cognitively able to understand what is being taught in his classes, but he desperately needs someone to spend the time helping him with his wandwork and fine motor skills in general. I've been reading up on therapies the Muggles use for kids like Harry, and were he not enrolled in Hogwarts he would be having something called 'Occupational Therapy.'"

Severus looked over at McGonagall to see if she understood.

"What are you smirking at, Minvera?" he asked a bit warily. She was almost as bad as Dumbledore at giving knowing looks with twinkling eyes. He did not appreciate it but had learned that it was better to ignore it than to focus too much on it.

"Six months ago you were practically frothing at the mouth at the mere mention of-and I quote-'Harry James-bloody-Potter,' but now you are one of his favorite people and have started acting almost parental."

Severus sneer quickly softened. He sighed.

"Minerva, if not me, then who? Perceptions change. I don't see bloody old Potter when I look at Harry. I don't see Lily, even though he has her eyes. I don't see the scar. I don't see anything but a little boy who, through no fault of his own, has no one to advocate for him. You heard the others. They don't see Harry as a gift, they see him as a burden, as a problem. I care because I must.

Who else will protect the boy from the ignorance of our peers, Minerva? Who else will help him reach his full potential when most people think he is impossible to teach and who can't bother themselves to try? Who else will stand up for him when he can't explain what he needs?

I don't know why Harry is different, and it doesn't matter anyway. Harry is more than just a collection of labels, more than a symbol, more than a name people hero-worship. Harry is just a boy who needs extra support and I can give it to him."

Severus trailed off, not quite sure what had gotten into him. It wasn't like him to be so open with his thoughts. He felt Minerva's hand on his shoulder.

"Harry is lucky to have you as a protector, Severus. So, three evenings a week, after dinner, for the three hours until curfew?"

Severus nodded once.

"For now, that will suffice."

"Oh, I let Harry tryout for the Gryffindor Quidditch team-"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by an outraged shout from the potions master.

"You WHAT? Have you gone mad?"

"Severus! He has a gift. I wanted to give him a hobby, something to help him fit in a bit better with the other students."

"No, you wanted to win the Quidditch Cup at the expense of an eleven-year-old who can't tie his own shoes or perform a simple Lumos without tears and twenty minutes of guided effort."

"Severus!"

"I take it Harry was ecstatic and has been talking of nothing but Quidditch for the past two days?"

"Actually, he told me he didn't want to play Quidditch."

Severus paused, intrigued.

"He doesn't want to play Quidditch?"

"No."

"Did he offer any reasons or was this another 'no' and nothing else sort of conversation?"

Severus smiled as he remembered trying to engage Harry in a conversation about something other than his beloved chemistry, and had absolutely no luck. All the boy had said was 'no' and then completely shut Severus out.

"Well, I got him to at least try out for the team, but it was a complete disaster."

Minerva started laughing.

"He is an excellent flyer, but he refused to chase the snitch. He spent his whole tryout flying around the pitch, effortlessly putting the older players to shame, but could not be bothered to catch the snitch. Wood kept badgering Harry to at least try, but all Harry would say is 'No, thank you.' By the end, poor Wood was practically apoplectic, but the rest of the team was thoroughly amused."

Severus smiled.

"Afterwards, Harry regaled me with a lecture on the violent and uncontrolled nature of the game, being sure to list off all the deaths and serious injuries. Well, you know how he gets. I had to guide the conversation if I wanted to have one, after all."

Severus did know.

"He told me 'No Quidditch, Professor. Just flying, please. No balls. No screaming."

"They screamed at him, Minerva?"

"Oh, not at him per se, and not angrily, either. The band of Gryffindors who turned out to watch tryouts was quite vocal. It upset him. He hears shouting and it's automatically interpreted as him doing something wrong even if the words are encouraging. So, despite my best efforts to get the student who would undoubtedly be the best seeker the school has seen in some time to play on my team, Severus, he just was completely uninterested."

"Good."

The pair sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Harry is easy to love, isn't he?" asked Minerva.

"Quite so," Snape affirmed quietly. "I hear it is because he has an excellent smile."


	9. The Safe Room

"Away. Away. Away."

Harry chanted to himself as he ran down the empty corridors. Harry didn't care where he was going, just as long as it was far away from here, from the pain, from the anger, from the shame. He didn't care if anyone thought him a coward for running, like Uncle Vernon always said when he tried to run away from Dudley. He just knew he had to get away.

"Away. Away. Just away."

He was running up stairs now, fervently wishing they wouldn't start to move while he was on them.

"Not fair. No fair. Just away."

The last time he was this upset at school, he had been trying to avoid a game of "Harry Hunting." He did avoid it-by apparating to the roof of the school, and that really just ended up postponing the inevitable anyway. Uncle Vernon had actually hit him a few times once he got home, and Harry never tried to avoid "Harry Hunting" again. 'Accidental Magic' is what that apparition was called, he remembered. Professor Snape had told him about that during one of his tutoring sessions earlier in the week. It meant that Harry was not "complete crap" at magic like some people were saying about him, but that he was quite powerful and he just needed a bit extra work to unlock his potential. Now, he was just wishing he was away from school and magic and everything was back to the way it was before he met Hagrid and came to Hogwarts.

He stumbled on the last stair and fell, crying out as his elbows connected with the hard stone floor. Again. He was going to have awful bruises there, but at least he tripped this time instead of being shoved. He lay there for a bit before he realized he was in a corridor he had never seen before. He listened for voices. No jeers and laughter. He supposed his tormentors had moved on to some other sort of fun. He knew it was lunch hour and he was supposed to be in the Great Hall. But if he went there, they would be there, and he didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see anyone, not even Ron or Hermione. Not even Professor Snape. He just wanted to alone.

He gingerly got to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. This corridor looked the same as the others, but it was higher in the school than he had ever been before. Much higher. He nervously started pacing in front of a tapestry of dancing trolls. If this was the corridor that was off-limits, he was sure to get in loads of trouble. He tried to remember what Professor McGonagall had told him about the forbidden places in the school the night he missed the Welcoming Feast, but wasn't sure which floor this was on.

"Safe. I need to be safe."

He starting rocking back and forth like he always did to calm down but stopped as he watched a door appear on the blank wall in front of him. Harry blinked. He could swear that the door hadn't been there before. Curious, Harry pushed at the door, certain it was just a magic painting like everything else. Only it wasn't. The door opened at his touch. Harry froze, suddenly uncertain about things. He read a book about something like this once. The girl had hidden in a closet to avoid being caught, but instead she found snow and an evil witch and a lion. He certainly didn't want to come face to face with an evil witch. Or what if it was the Bad Wizard that was trying to kill him? He shook his head. This was a wall, first of all, not a closet, so obviously it wasn't the same as in that book. And second of all, Professor Dumbledore had told him that at Hogwarts he was safe from the Bad Wizard. And Professor Snape had told him that, too, he remembered.

Emboldened by those thoughts, Harry closed his eyes, pushed into the room, and pulled the door closed behind him. Taking a deep breath to steel himself for whatever he might find, he opened his eyes.

"Oh wow."

The room was different than any other room he had seen at Hogwarts, but it was as though someone knew exactly what he needed. He wondered if Professor Snape had made the room, since it had a lot of the same things his old special school had for him to use. He knew Professor Snape knew an awful lot about his Autism and how certain things helped him relax when things got too chaotic and overwhelming to handle. Things like hanging upside down, or being rocked in a hammock swing, or ordering things by size or color. The room had bars to hang from that seemed just high enough for him to hang by his knees and run his hands along the thick, soft rug that was Harry's favorite shade of blue. And buckets of blocks in all the colors of the rainbow. But the best thing in the room was the hammock swing and its blue blanket.

"Blue is light with a wavelength of roughly 440 to 490 nanometers," he told the room, in case whoever made it was listening. "Cerulean blue is my favorite hue of blue because it has no greenish hues. It is the color of sky. I only like the cobalt stannate version of cerulean, not the cobalt chromate one."

He felt a little foolish as he realized whoever made the room had to have known that as they made sure to incorporate as much of that calming color into the furnishings as possible.

Harry had toed off his shoes and socks to revel in the softness of the carpet while he spoke to the room. He made his way over to the hammock swing that sat beneath a large skylight. It had to be a magic window, he decided, because the sun was out and the sky was perfectly blue, like from a painting. He laughed. The window was like a better version of the Great Hall ceiling, he decided. Because it showed the best weather, not just the actual weather.

He shrugged out of his robes and threw them into a corner. They were ruined anyway. He didn't have a way of mending them, not without going to a teacher. He winced, and felt the panic return. Going to a teacher meant telling someone he couldn't defend himself, not with magic or anything. Not even his fists. He didn't want everyone to know he was really a sissy boy. If everyone knew, then Hogwarts really would be like before when the rest of the school followed Dudley and no one wanted to be his friend. Probably even Ron and Hermione would decide not to be his friends when they found out he couldn't stop those boys from hurting him. He would just have to find a way to get new robes without going to a teacher, he decided.

The anxiety he had been fighting since coming to Hogwarts finally became too much to bear. He found himself hyperventilating and unable to handle the sudden agony of clothing touching his skin. He didn't care that he was eleven and deemed too old to run around naked. He just knew that he couldn't breath and that everything was just too tight, too painful. The room couldn't care, he decided. It was his room, made for him.

"My room. My Mary Poppins room," Harry whispered as he stripped down. He sighed with relief when he finally freed himself from the hateful clothing. "This is my safe room."

Wrapping himself up in the heavy blue blanket that didn't seem to bother his skin, he crawled onto the hammock swing, careful to not bump any part of himself more than necessary. He felt tears start to fall as he realized he would have to visit the infirmary soon to take care of the bruises. That meant the school would know he was a sissy boy, just like Uncle Vernon always said. He started humming to himself. The room wouldn't care if he was humming to himself, after all, and it made things feel better. Between the humming, the rocking, and the comforting weight of the blanket, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep.

"Thank you, Room," he mumbled before allowing his eyes to stay closed.

...-...-...-...-...-...-...-...-...-...-...-...-

Severus paced back and forth in front of the Headmaster's desk. Professor McGonagall was panicked, but stood still. Even Professor Dumbledore looked slightly concerned. Harry Potter was missing. Harry Potter had been missing for several hours, probably longer.

Hagrid had been sent into the Forbidden Forrest to see if Harry was there. He had not reported back yet.

Severus fought back the urge to slap the six boys standing in front of the Headmaster's desk. Barely four weeks into the term and already they were ganging up on students in the hallway. But not any student, Snape reminded himself. They had ganged up on the one student least able to defend himself properly, least likely to realize what was going on until it was too late.

Neville Longbottom had gone to McGonagall as soon as he had realized Harry had missed lunch and wasn't in his room or the library. Minerva had the school prefects from all four houses to scour the castle. It was a Slytherin prefect that overheard the gloating whispers of four first years about the "spot of fun" they'd had with Harry Potter that morning after breakfast. They had been unceremoniously shoved into Snape's office, all but Malfoy white with shock and fear. Snape marched them all to the Headmaster's office and explained the situation. Minerva summoned the two Gryffindor boys who had been tormenting Harry, reminding Snape that whatever injustices he had suffered at the hands of her precious lions growing up were not to be repeated with Harry. He felt a pang of jealousy, but ruthlessly ignored it. This was not about him, it was about Harry.

He stopped his pacing when he noticed Fawkes fly into the office and sit on Dumbledore's shoulder. The bird apparently told him something only the headmaster could understand, but as the small signs of worry disappeared from his face, Snape realized that Harry had been found.

"He is safe."

The relief in the room was palpable, though Severus was careful to quickly sneer at the six boys who clearly thought they were out of serious trouble. Annoyed beyond measure, he opened his mouth to let loose what he was sure would have been the greatest tongue lashing ever given to these juvenile hoodlums, only to have Dumbledore interrupt him before he could utter a single syllable.

"He is on the seventh floor, Severus. He is safe on the seventh floor."

Understanding what was unsaid, Snape nodded and left the headmaster's office and headed towards the seventh floor. Albus was right. It was better for him to help Harry and leave the rest to them. So Harry had found The Come and Go Room, as Severus liked to call it, as it came and went as needed. Harry was safe in The Room. With that knowledge, Severus found could breath again, the deep worry he hadn't known he could feel replaced with relief.


	10. Meltdown

Snape had been concerned he wouldn't be able to find the room, but the door was there on the seventh floor as though the castle knew he needed to find it as much as Harry had earlier. He supposed that wasn't too far from the truth, actually. Once he'd found the room, he had been concerned about how to approach what he was assuming would be a distraught little boy in the middle of a meltdown, but had been pleasantly surprised and relieved to find the boy asleep. A quick scan with his wand showed no life-threatening injuries, just bruises and exhaustion. Not wanting to wake Harry, he instead pulled a rocking chair beside the hammock and sat there thinking while he listened to the boy's soft breathing.

He wordlessly summoned the strewn clothing, including a mass of black and red cloth that at one point had been school robes. His fists tightened on the torn and filthy robes as he reigned in his anger and frustration. None of the boys had been very forthcoming about what they had done to Harry, but he had caught flashes of it in their eyes as he questioned them in his office. He was sickened by the emotions coursing through him, and he was having a difficult time separating this event with the flashbacks from his own childhood and years at Hogwarts. At least he had been able to give as good as he got and had usually been able to defend himself. He wondered what James was doing now, if he was able to see what had happened to his son. He winced. If James were able to see Harry, that meant Lily could, too. He swore he could hear her crying.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Shaking his head to clear the unpleasant memories, he forced himself to think only of Harry. He would have to make a room like this for Harry to access whenever he needed without resorting to running up to the seventh floor. He had been meaning to approach the headmaster about such a thing since the boy's detention, but the idea had gotten lost in the shuffle of his extra tutoring sessions and how well he seemed to be adjusting to the school and the magical world in general. In hindsight, Severus realized that Harry's improved classroom behavior and the disappearance of overt bullying had led them to believe Harry was fitting in and enjoying the challenges Hogwarts presented him.

They were wrong.

Severus pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket and leafed through them. He had found them while looking through Harry's desk and trunk in an effort to get an idea of where the boy might have run off to. Severus had found the pictures next to a worn, obviously often-read Muggle children's book titled "How Kids Make Friends." It appeared to have been a gift to Harry from one of his primary school teachers, as she had written a message inside the cover telling him to never give up, that he was an amazing and intelligent young man who would accomplish great things, and that when things got too overwhelming for him to speak that he was to remember to draw his feelings rather than lash out. She was sure he would find a friend, and if people made him feel bad about himself that he was not to believe them.

They were simple pencil drawings, but the emotions Harry could not express verbally were expressed here far more eloquently and effectively. They were all pictures of Harry in some form or another. The latest showed a small figure hunched in on himself, head buried in his knees and hands hugging his shins. Surrounding the forlorn boy were speech bubbles filled with all the snide and inconsiderate comments he must hear on a daily basis.

Try harder.

Retard.

Don't be stupid.

Freak.

It's simple. You aren't even trying.

Loser.

No one wants to be your friend.

Ungrateful freak.

Look me in the eyes, idiot.

Waste of time, you are.

Sod off, I don't want to be your friend.

Lazy boy.

The rest of the paper was filled with scribbles of what Severus hoped was Harry's own voice telling him not to believe those hateful words: No. No. No. No.

Over and over and over.

Not all the pictures were so disturbing. Harry had drawn himself next to a few smiling figures labeled "friends," and another featured a smiling Harry figure flying on a broom. Severus had been startled to find a likeness of himself in one of the drawings. He was standing next to Harry who was happily exclaiming to the world that he had learned to tie his own tie, finally. Severus smiled. He remembered the first time Harry had managed to tie his school tie on his own after hours of practice in the safety of Severus's office. It wasn't the most perfect of knots by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry had been beside himself with excitement and Snape refrained from pointing out that the fabric was twisted and the thin end extended several inches past where it should have been. The school jumper would hide the evidence anyway. Better to let Harry have this victory, however small it might appear to everyone else.

Intermixed with the drawings of people were sheets of paper filled front and back with row after row of small squares. He recognized this as a coping mechanism Harry employed when he needed to regain some control of his environment. He had noticed it during the lecture part of his own classes, and had let it continue as it was harming no one. Flitwick and Sinestra complained about the habit during a staff meeting, and Severus just asked if Harry had been turning in his work and passing his tests. When they answered in the the affirmative, Severus had sneered at them and suggested that perhaps they ought to put more effort into making lectures interesting than in making up problems.

He smiled sadly at the memory and put the drawings away. He would speak to Harry about them later. Sighing, he folded up the boy's discarded clothing, torn robes and all. He doubted Harry would be willing to put any of it back on. No matter. The room had thought of this quirk of Harry's as well, and had provided sweat pants and t-shirt along with a pair of socks and some new underwear. Severus wondered what had driven Harry to strip to nothing, but assumed it had been done with good reason.

Snape looked over to the hammock to see if the boy was awake, and was surprised to see a pair of green eyes staring at him.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Professor Snape," Harry quietly replied.

"I understand you had a bit of trouble this morning," began Snape.

"Uh oh. Trouble," interrupted Harry.

"Yes, 'uh oh. Trouble,' indeed, Harry," Snape agreed. "Are you able to tell me what happened?"

"This is my Mary Poppins room, Professor Snape."

Severus blinked.

"Pardon?"

"My Mary Poppins room," Harry repeated, a little more insistently.

"I don't understand, Harry."

"It's my Mary Poppins room because it's practically perfect in every way."

Severus grasped this was a Muggle reference but wasn't about to risk Harry launching into an explanation that would, if patterns held true, last at least ten minutes. He just nodded.

"It is perfect," he agreed, and held out the fresh clothing. "You need to put these on, Harry."

Severus turned his back to allow the boy some privacy, but continued to talk.

"I will have your robes mended and washed. Their current state is more conducive to cleaning rags than clothing, but that will be fixed. I have some salve for those bruises that should numb the pain and speed up the healing process. Aside from the bloody nose that you took care of with the sleeve of your jumper, you seem physically none the worse for the wear. Was any magic used on you, Harry? I can't test for that."

No response.

Severus turned around. Harry was standing stock still in just his grey sweat pants, hands clinched in fists at his sides. The boy was breathing rapidly, on the verge of a panic attack. He was going into some sort of shock. Lovely. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He guided Harry to the rocking chair he had just abandoned and started talking in what he hoped was a low, soothing voice.

"It's ok, Harry. Sit down on this chair. Yes, just like that. Good boy. Let me help you put your socks on. Look, I am putting them on inside out so the seam doesn't bother you, just as you like them."

He had never imagined himself as a man with the ability to be gentle, but here he was, kneeling on the floor, gently pulling inside out socks onto the feet of a frightened eleven year old.

"Excellent. I'm going to put your shoes on now. See. Left foot in. Good. Right foot. Well done. Can you fasten them or would you like me to do the honors, Harry?"

No response.

"Alright, that's not a problem. I'll do them up myself. There. All done. Would you like to get some supper now, Harry? I know you missed lunch. I bet the headmaster could get some of those sandwiches made just how you like them if you were to ask him. Does that sound like something you can do?"

Still no response, not even a nod or shake of the head. Severus was at a loss. Harry had never shut down this much before. Not sure what else to do, Severus shifted to a more comfortable sitting position and began rocking the chair back and forth.

"Alright, it's alright," he continued in the low voice. "We will just sit here for a while, you and I, until you feel safe. I am here now. I won't let anyone hurt you if I can help it. Did you know about the magic of this room, Harry? Everyone who finds it calls it something of their own. I call it the Come and Go Room because sometimes it is here and most of the time it isn't. The headmaster calls it the Room of Requirement. I suppose that is its proper name. Now you call it the Mary Poppins Room."

He glanced at Harry, and was pleased to see his breathing had slowed down.

"The room is special in that it only appears if you really need it. Do you know what that means? It means that not everyone who ventures up to the seventh floor sees that door. It also means that not everyone sees the same thing inside the room. The room makes itself into what you need to be at the time. Would you believe that the headmaster once found this room full of toilets? I imagine that all you were thinking of was a safe place. Is that what you needed from this room, Harry? A safe place?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus caught Harry nodding.

"A safe place of your own?"

More nodding.

"Are you hungry, Harry? I didn't get an answer from you earlier, but the offer still stands. I am sure the headmaster would be delighted to see you. We were all rather worried you had gotten lost."

"I wasn't lost, Professor Snape. I was right here!"

"As always, your logic is impeccable, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, aware that the sarcasm went right over the boy's head. "Regardless, we were all very concerned about your safety."

Harry grew quiet once more, but did not withdraw into himself. Severus watched as he steeled himself for whatever he was trying to say. He kept rocking the chair, knowing that on some level Harry appreciated the movement.

"They lied," Harry murmured so quietly that Severus had to strain to hear. "Not friends. They hurt me."

"What happened, Harry?"

Harry practically flew from the chair. Before Severus even realized what was happening, Harry was hurling his stacking blocks across the room. When he discovered the baskets holding the blocks weren't secured to the floor, he started throwing those, screaming incoherently all the while. Severus barely had time to process what was going on before Harry threw himself on the floor and began smacking his hands against his head, his body taut and writhing against the carpet as if in great pain. Perhaps he was, thought Severus as he shrugged out of his robe. Harry was having a meltdown, and the extra cloth would just get in Severus's way.

He crouched down beside Harry and awkwardly wrestled the boy into a sitting position on his lap. He winced as one of Harry's flailing arms connected with his chin. Looping both his arms around Harry's chest and securing the kicking legs underneath his own ankles, Severus effectively ensured the boy would no longer be able to physically harm himself. For ten minutes they just sat there, Harry struggling against Severus's grip, and Severus talking calmly as though he wasn't on the floor bodily restraining a screaming eleven year old boy.

"Harry, you need to settle down. I understand you are upset but you need to stop hurting yourself. Just focus on my voice, can you do that for me, Harry? I know you are frightened. I know you must be hurting. I cannot help you if I do not know what is wrong. You need to tell me, Harry. Will you tell me? Are the words stuck in your head, Harry? Is it too much to explain right now?"

He paused, wanting to see if Harry would respond. The boy just continued to cry although his screaming stopped. Severus slightly loosened his grip as Harry went limp. A few minutes passed. The sobbing dwindled to sniffles and hiccups as Harry regained control.

"Very good, Harry. You did nothing wrong. We are not angry with you. Let's try something, you and I, shall we? Will you nod if you understand what I am saying?"

He felt Harry nod.

"Good. You do not need to speak, just nod your head for 'yes' or shake it for 'no.' Is it hard to explain what you are feeling right now?"

A nod.

"Alright. I can understand that. Do you remember the first day that we met, when I told you that I understood what it was like to be bullied?"

Another nod.

"I was bullied in school, routinely picked on by a group of boys who seemed to derive a great deal of joy from my misery. I wasn't sure why I was their target, just that I was. Does that sound familiar, Harry?"

Nod.

"I felt angry because no one was stopping them. Do you feel angry?"

Nod.

"I was also angry at myself for not being able to stop them. That sort of self-directed anger is actually called 'shame.' When a person is ashamed, they feel guilty and embarrassed."

He felt Harry stiffen in his arms.

"You feel ashamed about what happened, Harry? No one blames you for anything that happened-"

"Uncle Vernon said I shamed him and that I ought to be ashamed of myself."

Well, that was entirely unexpected, thought Severus. It seemed the meltdown was tied to something deeper than just being picked on at school.

"He did, did he? And why, pray tell, would he say something like that?"

"I ran away from Dudley like a sissy boy. And then I was on the roof and Uncle Vernon had to come to the school for a meeting. Freaks like me are sissy boys who run away. Only a sissy boy runs away."

Ah, the accidental apparition incident. Severus frowned at the casual self-deprecation that flowed from Harry as though it was truth. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He made a mental note to quietly investigate Harry's guardians on his own. Albus may insist that a blood relative's home was the safest place for the boy, but Severus was beginning to think things weren't nearly as safe or wonderful as the headmaster was making them out to be. Childrearing was difficult even with so-called normal children, but raising a child like Harry, a prodigiously intelligent special needs boy who also happened to be a gifted and powerful wizard was a challenge that Severus doubted most people capable of, least of all Lily's horribly petty and jealous sister, Petunia.

"Running away from danger does not make you a coward, Harry, just as accepting a beating without trying to fight back or escape does not make you courageous. There are times when you must stand your ground, but a fight against six boys in a school corridor is not one of those times."

Harry didn't respond, but Severus wasn't expecting him to. It would take more than a few words from a teacher to begin to untangle the boy's perspective on what or was not considered foolish and cowardly.

"Do you know who are cowards, Harry?"

A shake of the boy's head against his chest signaled Severus to continue.

"Mr. Malfoy is a coward. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle are cowards. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan, and Mr. Nott are cowards. Do you know why those boys are cowards, Harry?"

Another shake of the head. Severus sighed.

"They ganged up on you, six against one. They chose you because they perceive you as less of a threat than other boys in your class."

He paused as he felt the boy start to curl up on himself.

"No, stop that, Harry. You are not a coward, but you are different and you are currently less able to defend yourself, especially when it is six against one. The only ones who should be ashamed are those boys. Not you. They are cowards because they picked on someone who could not cause them harm. Bullies are the worst sort of cowards. Not one of those boys picks on anyone who is truly capable of giving them what for. You don't see any of them confronting a seventh year, do you?"

Harry shook his head.

"I thought not. Bullying is a coward's way of trying to make himself feel bigger than he thinks himself to be. Nothing angers and frustrates a bully more than having his pride wounded, Harry, which is exactly what would happen if they picked a fight with someone else."

Severus wasn't about to let Harry know that Draco Malfoy actually did attempt to assert himself as the leader of Slytherin house due to his pureblood lineage and some misguided belief in the power of his family name. He made himself the laughing stock of the entire house and found himself on the receiving end of some creative, albeit relatively harmless, hexes and jinxes. The Malfoy spawn then dared to seek redress from his Head of House, citing the fact that his father was one of the school governors and could make or break Severus's career. Snape smirked at the memory. As though he were worried about the pitiful manipulations of a first year student.

"Shall we get up now, Harry?"

Harry didn't say anything, but he scrambled to his feet soon after Severus released him. Joints creaking, Severus got up and pulled on his robe.

"Will Ron and Hermione be my friends still, do you think?"

Severus looked down at Harry, puzzled.

"I imagine they will be ecstatic to see you again, Harry. Mr. Longbottom as well. They were quite concerned when they could not find you."

"Oh. Okay. Good. Maybe it won't be like before."

"Before what, Harry?"

"Before Hogwarts, Professor. No one would be my friend because they weren't allowed. Dudley said 'no one wants to be friends with stupid head Potter, right?' and everyone agreed."

Severus ground his teeth. He would start making inquiries about the Dursleys immediately.

"It will not be like before, I assure you. Your friends are waiting for you."

That triggered a response from the boy. Harry to begin rapidly pacing, hands flitting about as he began to speak.

"They told me they were sorry. They said 'Hey, want to be friends?' They wanted to show me something cool-not cold like ice but cold like awesome-but I had to go with them because it was secret. You don't go to secret places with strangers, but you can go to secret places with friends. That is the rule. Only with friends. And they said we were friends so I went."

Severus began to grow a bit more concerned. What exactly transpired in the corridor between Harry and these boys?

"That is a good rule, Harry. It wasn't your fault they lied to you. You could not have known. There wasn't anything to see, was there? That was the trick?"

Harry just ignored Severus and kept speaking, pacing, and flapping his hands in agitation.

"They said I could be part of their secret club. I like clubs, I think. Maybe. I dunno. Dudley was in all sorts of clubs but never me. But they said it was a secret club and I could be in it. So I said yes. The only way to see if you like something is to try it. But then they laughed and said 'Why would we be friends with a retard?' Uh oh, not good. Not good. Friends don't call you names. They shoved me and I tripped. No, they tripped me. Magic words tripped me. Lots of different magic words. Every time I got up they shoved me and tripped me. I shouted but no sound came out. My throat hurts now. It's very scratchy. My robes turned green. They made my robes turn green. I had to get them off, Professor Snape, I just had to!"

At this pronouncement, Harry's pacing stopped and he starting rocking back and forth. Severus quickly gathered the boy in a bear hug, feeling Harry relax into the deep pressure after a few seconds.

"I understand, Harry, you did nothing wrong. You are not in trouble. We can fix your robes." Severus's calm voice belied his growing anger.

Harry nodded.

"Yes, fix my robes, please. Thank you."

Severus was watching Harry carefully. There were other ways of finding out what happened, but he knew that having Harry work through the event would help alleviate some of the trauma.

"Is that all that happened, Harry?" he asked.

"Uh oh, trouble."

"There was more trouble, or are you referring to the trouble you just described, Harry?"

"No more trouble, Professor Snape, just running and running and then safe. Like in baseball. 'He's safe!'"

Harry broke free from Snape's arms, and imitated an umpire making the call.

"He's safe!" Harry shouted again.

Severus just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, you're safe. No need to shout about it. Now, we are going to stop by the infirmary to allow Madam Pompfrey to examine your throat."

He stopped as Harry scrunched his face in disgust.

"Stop that, Harry, that isn't polite. Madam Pompfrey will examine your throat, and then we shall see about getting you a bite or two to eat. I imagine you are quite hungry, what with this ordeal and subsequently missing lunch."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, but I am hungry for lots of bites, Professor, not just one or two. May I have more than one or two bites of supper?"

Severus laughed.

"Of course you may, Harry. I misspoke. You may eat until you are no longer hungry, no matter how many bites that may take."

"Professor, what will happen to those boys?"

Severus placed a hand firmly on Harry's shoulder and caught the boy's flitting hands with the other. Harry stilled immediately, and Severus knew he had his complete attention.

"I do not know what the headmaster decided, Harry. I left as soon as we found you."

"Will they be able to hurt me again, Professor Snape?" Harry asked in a whisper so quiet Severus would have missed it had he not been so close to the boy.

"I will do my utmost to ensure your safety in this school, Harry."

He knew Harry was looking for a promise, but it was a promise Severus was loathe to make considering how literal the boy was. Unless the boys were removed from school, the opportunity for harm existed no matter how closely Severus hovered. Harry didn't need a hovering avenging angel, either, Severus told himself. He needed to feel empowered to take on on the challenges he faced every day.

"I am not a coward, Professor."

"No, Harry, you are not. You are the bravest boy I know."

And it was true, Severus thought, not just a meaningless platitude. It was beyond him how happy and willing Harry was to take on each day despite the constant uncertainty and confusion that permeated and defined his world. He had shut himself off from the world after being hurt and protected himself with anger and solitude. Harry woke up each morning to a world that was mostly unwilling to look past his weaknesses, and yet he greeted everyone he met with a blinding smile and cheerful enthusiasm. Severus shook his head. It took some work to get to know Harry, but if you were willing to put in that effort, you could not help but be changed. Harry forced you to change.

He lost himself in thought as they walked to the infirmary, Harry running his hand along the walls as he was wont to do. He would find out exactly how Harry was treated at home. He would not let anyone attempt to break the boy any more than had already been done. He would talk to Harry about the disturbing picture he had drawn. If the boy was depressed, it needed to be addressed, not forgotten. And he would ensure that Harry had a 'Mary Poppins Room' of his own that he could access whenever he wanted. Severus was not sure what he would do if the headmaster treated this incident as a harmless prank, but he didn't think it would be brushed under the rug. Not when the victim was Harry Potter.


	11. No Shots

"Hi, Madame Pom-pom-pomferee. My name is Harry and I have an excellent smile. See?"

Harry smiled at the school nurse who promptly laughed and smiled back. It helped to ease a lot of his anxiety about this visit. Maybe she wouldn't hurt him like the doctors he had to see before Hogwarts. He didn't much care for them.

The first time he went to a doctor was when Aunt Petunia needed to enroll him in school. He was three. He had not enjoyed that at all, not one bit. They poked and prodded and gripped and shot him up with needles that made him cry and start "acting out" as Aunt Petunia liked to call it. He had hoped it would have been the only doctor he had to visit in his life, especially since Uncle Vernon had swore at him for causing them so much trouble and costing so much, but it wasn't very long into the school year until he was made to visit a different series of doctors. Psychiatrists and psychologists and therapists and so many types of "ists" that he stopped trying to keep them straight in his head. These doctors confirmed what his aunt and uncle had been telling him for as long as he remembered: that he was different ("That means you're a freak, Harry.") and needed special attention ("Forcing us to spend our hard earned money teaching you to speak properly, boy.") Harry hoped this school nurse wouldn't let his aunt and uncle know how much trouble he'd gotten into today. No matter what Professor Snape said, Harry knew Uncle Vernon would find him to be a sissy boy.

"I'm glad Professor Snape found you, Mr. Potter. We were all quite concerned."

"I am safe now, Madame Pom-I don't like your name because it is hard to say."

"Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape in a quiet tone that made Harry's arm hairs stand up. "That was quite rude. Apologize this instant."

Oh. Right. It was rude to say you didn't like things even if he did sound like a total berk stuttering. Or maybe it was rude because she didn't realize how difficult it was to pronounce her name.

"I'm sorry for bring rude, Madame Pom-pomperfee. Did you know that name is hard to say?"

Professor Snape sighed and covered his face with his hand, the one not holding on Harry's hand. Harry was quite pleased that his professor hadn't let go as he enjoyed that small feeling of protection. He was sure Professor Snape would not hold hands with anyone else, just Harry. No one else had ever done that before.

"Harry, you may call me Miss Poppy. Is that easier?"

Harry tried it out.

"Miss Poppy. Yes, much easier. That is a better name. Thank you. You can call me Harry. I like that better than 'boy.'"

He felt Professor Snape's hand tighten around his own. Probably that meant that Professor Snape didn't like something he had just said, but he wasn't sure what was wrong with any of it. Harry noticed Miss Poppy and Professor Snape exchange A Look. Adults gave Looks when they wanted to communicate without speaking. Looks usually meant something was wrong and no one wanted to tell him.

Harry's anxiety increased and he started rocking on his toes.

"I would love to call you Harry, Mr. Potter. Thank you. Now, come this way please."

He was led into a small brightly lit room and found himself lifted onto the table. Harry shivered slightly as his sweats and shoes were gently pulled off, leaving him in just his pants and socks. He had been hoping that Professor Snape was just fibbing when he said they were going there, but Professor Snape never fibbed about things like other people did; if Professor Snape said something was true, then it was true, and if Professor Snape said he needed to visit Miss Poppy to feel better, then he probably did. So now he sat on an exam table more than a little apprehensive about what would happen next. Miss Poppy hadn't hurt him yet, but he knew that even if people didn't mean to hurt him that they usually did.

He watched his Professor fold his shirt

"Sir, is Miss Poppy going to shoot me?" he asked, unable to control his anxiety any longer.

The hands folding his shirt paused.

"Harry Potter, why on earth would you think I would do such a thing?"

Harry startled and nearly fell off the table. He hadn't heard Miss Poppy come back into the room. Strong hands helped him find his balance, and then settled over his own, effectively keeping him still.

Harry grimaced. He supposed it was a stupid question. Why would wizards need shots when they had wands?

"Harry?"

He focused on Miss Poppy's voice.

"Harry, what did you mean by that?"

"I always get shot at the doctor's office."

It was true. Harry didn't know why he always needed to get shot at the doctor's office, but it always happened.

"They always stick a needle in my arm and tell me it won't hurt, but they are liars. It always hurts. It's called 'getting shot' and I don't like it."

The hands let go of him as Professor Snape made a peculiar sounding noise, almost like a cough and a laugh mixed together. Perhaps he had made joke and didn't realize it. Having Professor Snape laugh was okay, he decided. Harry grinned. It didn't make him feel stupid like when other people did it, like Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon was the worst at making him feel like an idiot. Or would that make it the best?

"No shots today, young man," said Miss Poppy. "We'll just fix up these scrapes and bruises up, and run a few tests."

Harry tensed. Tests were almost as bad as getting shot. Tests meant lots of questions and rough hands in cold gloves.

"Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape. "Calm down. If something will hurt, rest assured that either Madam Pompfrey or myself will let you know before surprising you. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Excellent. I will be sitting right over there, on the chair in the corner. Do you see it?"

Harry did.

"I will not leave this room without telling you first. I will sit there and watch Madam Pompfrey cluck over you like a mother hen. It will be a nauseating display of affection and care, but somehow I will find the strength inside me to survive it, as will you."

Harry giggled. Miss Poppy wasn't a hen! But she was a witch, so maybe. After all, Professor McGonagall turned into a tabby cat. Perhaps Professor Snape turned into an animal, too. He would ask later.

Miss Poppy came back into the room and handed him a vial of blue liquid.

"It's a calming draught and a bit of a painkiller. It should start working immediately."

It didn't taste nearly as good as it looked, but it was better than when Dudley tricked him into thinking the lemon-scented toilet cleaner would actually taste like lemons.

"I'm going to rub some ointment on your bruises, Harry. It will feel a bit cold and it will probably hurt a little, but I will try to be careful."

Whatever was in the ointment smelled of wintergreen and cotton. It was cold and he couldn't help but flinch when Miss Poppy's fingers touched him. He was surprised that she was rubbing it on parts of his back, but he didn't really mind it.

Content and at ease, Harry lost himself in the patterns the sun was making on the wall as it streamed through the windows. He heard voices talking around him, probably Miss Poppy and Professor Snape discussing his bruised elbows and scraped knees. The light danced on the walls and he smiled. Even though he knew it was completely illogical, he thought that maybe Hogwarts made the sunlight magical as well. The windows at the Dursley's never made such entertaining patterns. He reached his hand out. Maybe if it was magic light he could grab it and keep some for himself. No, not even magic could tame light. He smiled as the light danced across his hand and tried to catch the light again. And again.

A shadow fell across the wall and interrupted the game. It was Miss Poppy and she needed his attention now. She was going to clean his knees and it was going to sting, was that okay? Yes, it was okay. He glanced over at Professor Snape and saw him looking at parchments, his parchments from his dorm. His drawings and notes and squares. He recognized the one his professor was looking at. It was the angry one that he drew after a bad week of teasing, the one where he was hugging his knees and wishing he was invisible or somewhere else. Harry knew he wasn't any of those things he had written down, but it was sometimes hard to remember that at nighttime when the castle was asleep.

He yelped and kicked out reflexively. That didn't sting, it burned. A lot. He started squirming, trying to get away from the pain, but Miss Poppy had him stuck to the table somehow. What? How?

"It's a sticking charm, Harry, and I'll let you go once I've cleaned your knees out. It will only be a few more minutes. I don't want you hurt yourself. Or me. You've got quite a kick, young man."

Magic. Of course there would be a spell so you couldn't move. He started rocking to ease the panic and discomfort. He watched Miss Poppy debride, disinfect, and cover his knees in soft white bandages. Uh oh, that just would not do.

"No, not white. I always have Batman bandaids. They have pictures of Batman on them. Can you make them Batman bandages?"

"Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape. "Mind your manners. Say 'please' and 'thank you.' You are a wizard, not a heathen."

"Please and thank you, Miss Poppy. Now can you make them Batman?"

Miss Poppy smiled and tapped her wand on each knee. Oh. Not Batman, but something better. They were bats that moved. He had flying bats on his knees. Oh, magic was wicked cool. He flapped his hands in excitement and laughed out loud, the pain from earlier completely forgotten. He was disappointed when he found himself released from the sticking spell and helped into his sweats again. They hid his knees from view. He couldn't wait to show Ron and Neville and Hermione. He bet not even Hermione knew how to make bats fly around on bandages, and she knew lots of things.

Harry carefully pulled his pant legs up over his knees to admire his bat bandages as he swung his feet under the table.

"You look ridiculous like that, Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape as he grabbed one of Harry's swinging feet to help put his shoes on. "You look as though you are wearing knickers. Shall I get you some suspenders? Come on now, pull them down."

But Harry didn't want to pull them down, he wanted to see his bats.

"Are you able to tear your eyes away from your knees to put your shirt on, or do I need to help you with that?"

Harry took the proffered shirt from Professor Snape and pulled it on. He could get dressed himself, thank you very much. He was ushered out of the exam room, pulled-up sweats and all, and told to make himself comfortable in the rocking chair outside Miss Poppy's office while lunch was brought up and Professor Snape went to inform the headmaster of Harry's whereabouts. Harry was not too keen on waiting in the infirmary, but a tray with a bowl of hot soup and two cheese sandwiches served to keep him occupied and distracted while Snape slipped away. He loved the rocking chair; it was charmed to rock on its own, and he dozed off after he finished his lunch, waking only when Miss Poppy had him swallow some more of that blue potion and coaxed him to allow her to fix his sweat pants.

"But my bats, Miss Poppy," he said, weakly protesting the covering of the bandaged knees he was so pleased with.

"Your bats will be there when you wake up, Harry. Now sleep. You're safe waiting here until Professor Snape comes back to collect you."

Harry did just that, a small smile on his face. The last thing he remembered was the sound Miss Poppy made when she draped a light blanket over his shoulders. It was a clucking sound, just like Professor Snape said.

Snape stalked towards the headmaster's office. To say he was displeased with the extent of Harry's injuries was an understatement: he was furious, and a bit worried. Harry was vulnerable, and it seemed that the school staff had let him down. The approach the headmaster took with the situation would set the tone for the remaining seven years that Harry attended Hogwarts. If he was too lenient, Severus knew from experience that those years would be miserable. If the right punishment wasn't meted out, and if appropriate strictures on bullying weren't put in place, there didn't seem to be a way of preventing this from occurring in the future. Well, short of ensuring the boy had an escort everywhere he went, which was an absurd requirement in an institution of learning. It was a school, not a war zone.

Severus knew those boys were up to no good, had known since laying eyes on the Malfoy boy particularly that he would be trouble. He learned the lessons his father taught, and it seemed the three other Slytherins were only too happy to follow in their fathers' footsteps as well. Like fathers like sons, it seemed. Perhaps if they were made painfully aware of the cost of bullying they would refrain from the despicable behavior in the future. There weren't enough cauldrons in the dungeons to get that point across, though, in his opinion. He would be having a stern talk with his house this evening to publicly condemn the first years' behavior and to praise the rest of his students for their acceptance of Harry.

He muttered the password and walked into the room, inclining his head in greeting to both the headmaster and McGonagall. The six boys were nowhere to be seen. He assumed they were in their dormitories.

"Ah, Severus," said Albus, "I assume that young Harry is no longer lost and in distress?"

Severus sat in one of the free chairs across from the headmaster's desk before responding.

"Harry is safely esconced in a rocking chair in the infirmary, having successfully and completely unintentionally wrapped Madam Pompfrey about his little finger. He managed to kick her during the examination, and she rewarded him by animating some pictures on his bandages."

"He kicked Poppy, Severus?" asked McGonagall.

"He did, though it wasn't his fault. His knees were quite a mess and were painful to clean up. Harry was simply acting out of reflex."

"I trust that his injuries were taken care of?" the headmaster asked. "Did he have anything to say about what happened? We got most of the story from the other boys, of course, but Harry's side deserves to be heard as well."

Severus scowled and pulled out the parchment detailing the extend of Harry's physical injuries that Madame Pompfrey had given him.

"Yes. He had extensive bruising on his torso, specifically around his left side and back, as though he had been curled up in an attempt to protect himself from what were obviously several kicks. His elbows, too, were bruised. He informed me this happened as he was tripped trying to get away. His knees were shredded. The castle floors are most unforgiving, Harry will need to visit the infirmary twice a day for the next few days to get the bandages on his knees changed. I am sure we will be introduced to a new flying mammal each time this occurs, as Harry adamantly refuses to keep them on if they remain in their white, unadorned state.

He originally insisted that they be turned into Batman bandages. Thankfully, he was convinced that flying bats were an acceptable substitute since Madame Pompfrey had no idea who 'Batman' is, and I was not about to explain. Harry then refused to pull his trousers down to his feet, preferring instead to keep them bunched up above his knees so as to admire his animated bandages. I did not press the issue, but I assure you, he looked ridiculous."

He paused. Both the headmaster and Professor McGonagall were sporting fond smiles. Not that Severus could blame them. He had fought to hide a similar smile at Harry's enthusiasm.

"Yes, it was probably more nauseatingly cute than you are imagining it to have been," he continued. "I found Harry asleep in the Come and Go Room. His robes and trousers were ruined. I believe the school should provide new robes rather than attempt to mend them, if his attackers are unable to afford to do so themselves. The latter is, I think, the more appropriate response as they were responsible for their destruction in the first place."

He looked pointedly at the headmaster, who nodded in agreement. Severus felt himself relax a bit.

"After Harry woke up, he shut down while I questioned him about the events of the afternoon. This state of nonresponsiveness escalated into a violent meltdown, after which he and I had a frank discussion about how this was not his fault and he was not in trouble."

Severus started pacing, his agitation returning full force.

"He wanted-" Severus paused to clear his throat from an unexpected swell of emotion.

"He wanted to know if he was safe here, if something like this would happen again. I-I could not promise him any such thing but told him I would do everything in my power to prevent it. And I shall. Albus, this was not a silly prank or duel, it was a vicious attack on a helpless little boy by children who knew better."

He stopped, realizing he had practically shouted that last bit. Well, no matter. This incident upset him more than he cared to admit. If he was to be judged, than there were worse things in his past than his worry over a child.

"Minerva, he may have difficulty sleeping in the dorm for the next while, especially in the presence of Finnigan and Thomas. If this occurs, he has been prescribed a sleeping aid to take before bed, but his roommates and prefects will probably want to be made aware of the possibility of distress."

He coughed. What he was going to say next would result in unacceptably saccharine responses from his colleagues, but so be it.

"As you are both aware, Harry has become quite attached to me."

He glanced up and inwardly cringed. Yes, there was the unmistakable twinkle in the headmaster's eyes and Minerva was smirking. He sneered.

"Because of this, if he ever becomes inconsolable after curfew or a night terror, you must not hesitate to get me. He may not be able to articulate his need, but it exists and I will be able to calm him down. That duty is too much to thrust onto the shoulders of his housemates or prefects."

He would have said "any time," but both Minvera and Albus knew that most of Harry's free time was spent with Severus to begin with, and the times he was not he spent in the company of Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom who together acted as a buffer between the bullies and Harry.

"Albus, I am concerened about the boy's mental health. I found a disturbing drawing of his this afternoon."

He placed the parchment in question on the headmaster's desk before continuing.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him about this, though he knows I have it in my possession. He saw me looking at it while in the infirmary. I was hoping that one of you might know of someone he could talk to. I do not feel comfortable being his only source of support, especially in matters such as this. I believe we have let Harry down by assuming the decrease in disruptive behavior meant he was finally settling in. I also think that having someone other than myself to talk to about today's attack would be beneficial."

He sat down again, exhausted. A cup of tea was pressed into his hand, and accepted it without thought. Now he would just wait to see how many slaps on the wrist the culprits received.

"All six of the boys involved have been suspended from school for two weeks."

Severus stiffened slightly at the headmaster's statement. Well, that was unexpected. Deserved, but unexpected. He felt a twinge of indignation but quickly told himself to grow up.

"I will address the school this evening at dinner. I've also asked Minerva to work with the heads of houses and prefects to focus on preventing future incidences of bullying. I would like for you to help make everyone on staff aware of Harry's strengths. Merlin knows some of the faculty are too focused on his difficulty learning, and their approach tends to frustrate both Harry and themselves. He has seen vast improvement in all his courses since you've taken him under your wing, and I am sure once some of the more-shall we say jaded-individuals realize they just need to alter their approach a bit, they will learn to appreciate his potential."

Severus privately disagreed. The idiot of an Astronomy professor, Sinistra, seemed hell bent on making Harry as miserable as possible in as unprofessional a way as possible, and another staff meeting and round of Get to Know Harry would probably do nothing to change her attitude. Perhaps if he were allowed to hex her in front of the school.

"I will be sure address your concerns about Professor Sinistra's behavior with her privately, Severus," said Minerva. "Her classroom manner has undoubtedly been interpreted by some students as tacit permission to treat Harry similarly."

He blinked. Were his thoughts that obvious?

"Honestly, Severus, why so surprised? We've touched on this subject several times over the past few weeks."

Apparently his thoughts were quite obvious. Suspicious, he sniffed his teacup. Oh yes, his sensitive nose caught the faint scent of a calming draught. No wonder he could be read so easily. A quick look across the desk assured him that Albus knew full well and was probably the one responsible for lacing his tea in the first place. That conniving-

"My boy, I love it when you glower at me so fiercely. Admit that you would never have taken it on your own despite clearly needing it."

He would do no such thing. Ever.

"Headmaster, as enjoyable as this conversation has become, I must take my leave. I have a House that needs attending to and four boys who probably need a reminder to stop sulking and start packing. I assume I will also suffer the displeasure of their parents?"

"I believe that, with one exception, any parental displeasure will be directed towards their sons."

One exception meant one name: Malfoy. Well, he had faced an irate Lucius Malfoy several times and could certainly handle another. No matter what drivel was spun as fact, the incontrovertible truth was Draco had viciously attacked another student without any provocation. Very well. He could assume the mantel of obsequiousness once more. It paid to be careful around the elder Malfoy. One never knew if he was...up to something.

"As their Head of House, I assume I will be escorting the miscreants to Hogsmeade this evening?"

Of course he would.

"I will be with my two students, as well, Severus," said Minerva. "Their parents will expect us at seven sharp."

With Minvera present, the meeting would not turn into a social call. Thank goodness for small favors.

"Very well then. Headmaster. Minerva."

He left the headmaster's office in a slightly better mood than when he had entered (calming draught, indeed!), and made his way back to the Infirmary to check on Harry. He had made a promise to return and so he did, although it turned out the boy was asleep in the rocking chair. Good.

He turned to leave and ran right into Madame Pompfrey who gave him a knowing look. Uncomfortable with the almost parental emotions he was feeling towards the boy, his foul temper reasserted itself and he sneered at the school matron.

"I take it you had to resort to sleeping potions to get the boy to wear his trousers properly."

A raised eyebrow and a forceful push out of the Infirmary doors were all he got for his trouble. It seemed that Madame Pompfrey, like the headmaster and the head of Gryffindor, had also grown immune to his snark.

"You don't fool me one bit, Severus Snape. Go see to your House. Harry will be fine. I'll call you if he needs you, don't worry."

And with that, the doors were closed in his face, leaving him two options: stand there and risk appearing the fool to whatever students happen to wander past, or make his way to the Slytherin common room and deal with four pre-pubescent monsters. Hmpf. Severus turned on his heel and stalked towards the dungeons.


	12. Sometimes, hands talk

"Mr. Potter, please stay after class. I need to speak with you."

Harry grimaced. That meant he would be late for next class, but it also meant he wouldn't be in the hallway at the same time as everyone else. Which was more important? To be on time, or to walk without getting jostled and laughed at? The laughter wasn't so bad now that his main tormentors were suspended, but he still found himself tripping on the floor or being shoved into walls by anonymous students. What was it that made everyone hate him? He much preferred the quiet apathy of most to the physical and verbal violence of whichever students he managed to offend simply by existing. It wasn't something he intentionally did, or he would stop it. It had to be something else, something he just wasn't aware of. Maybe Professor Snape would know. 

Harry felt firm pressure on his chin and his head was tilted slightly upwards, breaking his train of thought. He blinked. Professor Snape was right in front of him, and Harry realized the classroom was empty. He was in his head for longer than he thought, apparently. Professor Snape let go.

"What did I do wrong this time, Professor?"

Harry stared at his parchment, silently wracking his mind for whatever caused his potions professor to keep after class. Nothing. Unless---

"Professor, I did turn in my Charms homework, but I was made to do it over because my handwriting was so poor. It is so hard to write things out, and it takes me ages."

Harry risked a glance up, eyes sliding quickly up and back down again.

Definitely a frown.

Agitated now, Harry began slightly rocking back and forth on his chair. He hated upsetting Professor Snape.

"That wasn't why I need to speak with you, Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape. "But I am glad you told me. Don't worry about the rewrite; I will speak to Professor Flitwick and get that sorted."

Harry smiled. 

"I wanted to speak with you about something non-academic. You've been excused from your next class, and I thought we could go for a walk. Are you amenable?"

Harry's whole body froze and his eyes closed. He loathed such sudden deviations in his schedule. They made him panic, the disruption could cause an infinite number of unknowns to occur and his carefully planned _everything_ would fall to pieces. He clenched his hands. 

"We don't have to go on a long walk, Harry," he heard Professor Snape say. "We do need to discuss these things, however, and I wanted to show you something. Harry?"

Harry felt the panic subside as quickly as it came on. His hands unclenched, one staying on his desk, its thumb rubbing against index finger, and the other hand rising to rub his right ear. He appreciated that he no longer felt self conscious about his self-soothing behavior in front of Professor Snape. It was completely relaxing to turn off the loop of Proper Behavior Rules that ran through his head. Harry wondered if other people had What To Do loops in their heads, too, or if it was just him. He realized his Professor was waiting for an answer.

"Ok, yes. I am amenable."

"Excellent. Now, do I have your complete attention?" said Professor Snape.

Harry nodded.

"I want to apologize to you, Mr. Potter, for silencing your hands."

Harry gaped. Then stared at his hands. Hands didn't talk.

"I don't understand. My hands didn't say anything. Do your hands talk?" 

This could be cool. Maybe wizard hands could talk. Maybe that was how everyone got their wands to work because their hands talked to the---no, don't be daft.

"Don't be daft," Harry said, echoing his mind. "Don't be daft, don't be daft."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter?"

"Hands don't talk so of course that isn't why wizards can do magic," said Harry.

"Yes, well, I apologize for having stopped you from expressing yourself with your hands in the past, and I shall endeavor to refrain from doing so in the future."

Right. The flapping and twitching and shaking and flicking, that's what he meant by 'talking,' not actual words. Stimming. 

"Stimming."

"Yes, that's the Muggle pathology for what is usually a harmless, albeit different, physical expression of emotion."

"And focus. Helps me focus and calm down. Otherwise I feel anxious and out of myself, out of myself like I don't know where I am in space and time. Out of myself." 

Harry realized he and his Professor were further down the hall, walking while conversing. He liked this part of the castle because it was muffled and quiet and dim. He liked red and gold, but his common room hurt his eyes sometimes with all its bright, loud colors. People seemed afraid of the dungeons, but Harry didn't think Hogwarts had torture chambers and prisons in its dungeons, just Professor Snape and Slytherins and Potions classrooms and probably pantries for food storage. He'd read that about how basements (and a dungeon was just a different sort of basement) kept food better than above-ground storage.

"Professor, where are we going? Your office?"

"No, Harry, I wanted to show you something else, a place for you to go when you need a break."

"A break room."

"Yes, a break room designed specifically for you."

They stopped in front of a door Harry had never noticed before. He should have noticed the door before. They were right across from Professor Snape's office. 

"There was a tapestry on the wall, which has been moved," said Professor Snape, startling Harry who realized he had been staring. "This used to be a small laboratory, but as it hasn't been used in several decades, we have decided to put it to better use than a dust repository. There isn't a password; the door is set to recognize your magic signature and open automatically."

The door popped open and Harry stared into the room before cautiously stepping inside. 

"This is the magic room from Before," he said, rocking up on his toes. "The Mary Poppins room. My Mary Poppins room, practically perfect in every way."

And it was, right down to the sunlight in the window above a hammock. Harry loved magic. He tore off his robe, anxious to get out of the frustrating clothing. Barefoot now, and in his shorts and shirt, Harry threw himself onto a beanbag chair and rolled to the floor, reveling in the feeling of the thick perfectly blue carpet. 

He noticed a Professor-size armchair in the corner.

"Is this your magic room, too?" he asked.

"No, but we will have our tutoring sessions in here now, and I refuse to debase myself with a beanbag chair."

Harry giggled at the picture of Professor Snape on a beanbag chair. Content to just lie upside down on his beanbag chair, Harry just waited. They were supposed to talk about something. 

"Harry. In order to better help you here at school, I made a visit to your relatives' home. Do you think you could help me answer some questions I have?"

Harry went absolutely still. He didn't want to talk about this. Professor Snape must have noticed his discomfort because a small toy was pressed into his hands. He stared at it, a question on his face. 

"It's called a Tangle, and you just sort of bend it into shapes."

A distraction. A distraction that wasn't distracting enough. Harry realized his breathing had changed. Curious.

"Harry," said Snape, "I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong."

Nothing is wrong. He was not afraid. Right, he had to say them out loud. Magic didn't mean people were mind readers. Use your words, idiot. Use. Your. Words. 

"Using my words."

Didn't mean to say that part out loud, but oh well. Harry took a quick glance at his Professor who was just waiting.

"Nothing is wrong. I am not afraid."

A quick look up again. Not good. Professor Snape was frowning.


	13. Batman

"You are not afraid of what, Harry?"

Harry huffed in frustration. Why did he need to have this conversation now? Or at all? Why couldn't things be left alone as they always had been?

"Harry, what aren't you afraid of?"

Nothing. Everything. If Professor Snape found out how awful of a boy he was, he probably wouldn't be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. Except Harry had already caused an awful lot of problems and was still here, and not only was he still here, he had made friends. 

Harry paused to work through this problem: if he was the same awful boy as he was before he found out about magic, and if he was still here at Hogwarts, then Hogwarts didn't care if he was an awful boy. And if Hogwarts didn't care if he was an awful boy, then the rules of his relatives' didn't apply here.

He hadn't changed, he was still himself. He was the same as when he was at his relatives' and his old school. He was still at Hogwarts, too. In fact, he was getting a lot of help at Hogwarts that he never got at his other school, no matter how nice his teacher was. Hogwarts must not need to fight for 'services for idiots and lazy boys' like his uncle said about his old school. So Hogwarts didn't care that he was an awful boy, which meant that his aunt and uncle were wrong. And if his aunt and uncle were wrong, that meant that he didn't have to be afraid of telling the truth. Plus, he thought that Professor Snape made quite the superhero, like a skinny Batman, and as long as he had Batman on his side, there was no reason for him to be afraid. But did he have Batman? He didn't know.

Harry glanced up at Professor Snape again. Up. Down. Up. Down. His mouth opened a few times, but no sounds came out. His words were stuck in his head. Again. He looked down at the toy in his hands and fiddled with it, contorting it into itself and back out again while he mentally practiced forcing the words out. He tried again. Nothing. He began to get frustrated and slammed the toy down on the ground. Losing the ability to speak didn't happen very often, but when it did, it was disconcerting and terrifying.

Harry rubbed his hands on his face, through his hair, along his neck. Once. Twice. Three times. He took a deep breathe, closed his eyes, and tried to speak again. 

"Batman protects people. Batman protects people from bad guys."

Well, that wasn't exactly what he was trying to say, was it, but at least he could get words out. Probably Professor Snape had no idea what he was talking about, but at least he wouldn't make a big deal about it. He looked towards his teacher. Yep, just waiting patiently for Harry to say what he needed. A feeling washed through Harry, like a wave. Relief, that's what that feeling was. Harry thought he rather liked that feeling. No pressure, just take however long he needed. He wasn't used to that sort of treatment from he teachers and other adults, which further confused him. Did this mean that Professor Snape would be different?

Calm now, and more confident, Harry tried again. He could talk all about Batman, and Batman was much easier to explain. 

"Batman is a comic book superhero who fights crime in the city of Gotham. He is part of the DC universe of comics, not Marvel. Batman first appeared in 1939 but he got his own comic in 1940 because he was so popular. There have been several iterations of Batman, and the first were really silly. I like the Batman: Shaman series, and Frank Miller's Batman and Alan Moore's The Killing Joke because they are more serious, like real life is serious. Oh, and Batman: Hush is good. I think more people should read Batman comics. If you want to read Batman comics, I can let you use my library card. No one knows I have it, though. Well, except for the library and Miss Tery, my favorite teacher. She got me the card so I didn't have to listen to people call me stupid, I could just read books instead and learn things. I sometimes wish that I could be Batman, even though he isn't real. Batman isn't real, but I wish he were."

He could talk about Batman all day, probably, if Professor Snape would let him. Next to chemistry and drawing, Batman was a favorite subject. It was also a subject that seemed to make him friends at first, before he inadvertently and accidentally talked about it too much, too intensely, and too frequently. Miss Tery never minded when he talked about Batman, and she explained that other kids just didn't like Batman as much, sort of like how he didn't like recess as much as other kids did.

"Why do you wish you were Batman, Harry?"

Surprised, Harry looked up. A grown up wizard knew about Batman? Not even Ron knew about Batman despite being a kid. Hermione at least knew who Batman was even though she didn't like comic books because they weren't 'real books.' Harry had called Hermione an idiot because of course they were real. He even had one in his hands right then, so if it wasn't real, what was it? Harry smiled at the memory of stumping Hermione, the smartest person in school. 

"Because then the bad guys would be afraid of me and I would always win whenever they come after me, plus people would have to be nice to me because I would be Bruce Wayne. Even Uncle Vernon would probably be nice to me because I'd be a Successful Businessman, just like him. And then I wouldn't have to live in the cupboard under the stairs, and I could eat however much I wanted whenever I was hungry, and I could have all the presents on my birthdays. People couldn't get away with hitting me if I was Batman, and Batman is wicked smart."

He paused, realizing something for the first time. 

"Besides, I already am more like Batman than most people. Do you know why?"

He saw Professor Snape swallow, then clench his jaw. Probably not a good question to ask then. Harry might not know what faces were saying all that often, but he could see they were saying something.

"No, Harry, I don't know why. Enlighten me."

Harry blinked. No recrimination or correction meant it was something else he had done or said to cause that reaction in his professor. Maybe Professor Snape really hated Batman and was humoring him by listening. Adults liked to do that, and then talk at him in an obnoxious, patronizing voice that hurt his ears, like sucking on helium but not quite. He didn't think Professor Snape was that sort of person, though. After all, he had listened to Harry go on about chemistry during their first meeting. Harry decided to just ask later. He needed to explain Batman to the professor like he'd been asked. 

"Because my parents were murdered in front of me, too."

He made his fingers into a gun and pointed them at Professor Snape.

"Bang!" he said, pretending to pull a trigger. "Bang! Bang! Just like that."

"Batman's parents were shot and mine were killed by green light. Except you know what, Professor Snape?"

"What, Harry?"

"Except my relatives said they were in a car crash and that's a lie. Car crashes aren't green, car crashes are metal and fire."

Harry sat there, letting that run through his mind. He wasn't quite sure why he'd never made that connection before, but there it was. He would think more on that later, though. He didn't have time to focus on that now. 

"If I were Batman, I could live all by myself and not have to be shouted at for not doing normal things or for not doing things the normal way. If I were Batman, I could afford special services on my own so Aunt Petunia didn't have to meet with the school and waste time on my laziness like she always says. I don't mean to be lazy, but it takes a lot of work to pretend to be normal like everyone wants, and sometimes I just can't do it all the time. Maybe if I were Batman they would love me, too, instead of just Dudley."

Harry trailed off as his words caught up to his ears. He realized everything he had just said. Everything he wasn't supposed to talk about had just come out of his mouth anyway. He was going to be called a liar now, a storyteller, a fibber, an attention-grabbing nasty little boy. He could try to pretend he hadn't said those things, but he would be caught out and then Professor Snape would let into him like Uncle Vernon sometimes did.

Harry laughed out loud. He thought it was funny how when he tried to lie, he was terrible at it, but when he told the truth, people thought he was lying to get attention. He waited for Professor Snape to start, but nothing happened, just silence and breathing. 

"I, too, like Batman, although I have neither read a comic book nor seen a film in many years," said Professor Snape after what felt like several minutes. 

"Do you know what your head of house often calls me?"

"Um...your first name?" Harry asked. "She calls you by your first name."

How was he supposed to know what his teachers called each other? He called them Professors and they called him Mister, usually. Sometimes they called him Harry, but he never called them anything but Professor. Harry found the ways people addressed each other fascinating because of the power dynamics and level of familiarity they revealed. If you were friends, you used first names. If you were close friends, you could use a nickname. If you tried to use a nickname but weren’t that close of a friend, that was presumptuous and rude. Names and titles acted like an invisible barrier between you and the people who you met.

"Indeed. However, she also calls me a Great Bat sometimes because I tend to swoop out of shadows and interrupt misbehaving students." 

Harry stared at his Professor with wide eyes as he processed this new information. He pulled his shoes and socks off to feel the carpet under his feet and between his toes, and started to walk around the room, his fingers directing a symphony against his legs. 

"Thank you for trusting me," said Professor Snape.

"Do I have to leave now that you know I am an awful boy that takes up valuable resources and tells fibs?"

He had to know, and the best way to know something was to ask, even if it meant interrupting a conversation. He settled into the beanbag chair again, waiting. 

"You are not an awful boy, Harry."

Harry scrunched his face up in confusion. That statement went against everything he had been told his entire life, and he just didn't believe Professor Snape knew how awful he really was. Right now, everyone was being patient with him, but soon they would realize how weird he was and how hard he was to handle and how big of a drain on society he was, and then he would be out on the street, just like his relatives threatened.

"Yeah, but---" he began.

"No. You are not an awful boy, Harry'" Professor Snape repeated. "You are not taking up anything, and you and I both know that you aren't telling fibs."

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the same moment he felt the rocking chair start to move on its own. He loved magic. He was going to miss it terribly when he was sent back.

"You are not going anywhere, Harry, so calm down."

Harry was pretty sure at this point that his professor was a mind reader because he always knew almost exactly what going on in his head and didn't require words to understand it. One day, he would be good enough at magic to read minds, too. That way, maybe he wouldn't be so confused about faces or why he always seemed to say the wrong thing. If he could read minds, he wouldn't even have to talk, just think, so he wouldn't stumble over words and when words got stuck between his brain and mouth, it wouldn't even matter one bit. 

"You are not going anywhere."

"Not going anywhere," Harry repeated. "Not going anywhere."

Harry felt that feeling again, relief. Professor Snape said he wasn't going anywhere, and Professor Snape had never lied to him, not even to get him to do something he didn't want to do, so if Professor Snape said he was staying, then Harry knew he was staying.

"That's right, you are not going anywhere. You don't need to worry about resources, valuable or otherwise. You do not take anything. You are not an awful boy."

"Not 'boy,' either. I am Harry. Harry Potter."

"Precisely."

"And you are Batman," said Harry. 

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you would keep me safe, and you said you are like a bat, and you are smart and scary just like Batman. I don't have to be Batman because you're Batman. You keep me safe from bad guys."

With that pronouncement, Harry got up and made a beeline for a small climbing gym in the corner. He hung himself upside down and stared at Professor Snape. 

"Today, I read about bond line drawings in my chemistry book. Hermione doesn't know about bond lines because she doesn't know about chemistry. Hermione just knows about facts, and chemistry is more than just facts. Hermione also told me comic books weren't real books, so I told her she didn't know what she was talking about. Her face got very red and everyone laughed."

"I imagine she didn't take that very well."

"I know all about chemistry and bond line drawings. Miss Tery said I was very pra--pree--precoshush to be learning organic chemistry."

"Precocious. And yes, she was quite correct. Did you ever tell Miss Tery about why you want to be Batman, Harry?"

Harry did not want to talk about Batman anymore. 

"Bond line drawings are beautiful. A bond line drawing shows the skeletal structure of a molecule. It is a shorthand representation of its bonding and some details of its molecular geometry. They are easy to draw. The benzene rings look like honeycombs. You can also call a bond line drawing a skeletal formula."

"Harry, this is very important. I need you to answer my questions," said Professor Snape. 

"Single bonds are most common and are represented by a single, solid line between two atoms. Double bonds need two parallel lines, and triple bonds have three parallel lines," said Harry, carrying on his lecture.

"Harry," said Professor Snape. "I need you to focus for just a little while longer, and then you can tell me all about bond lines."

"I can tell you all about bond lines now."

"Did Miss Tery know that you weren't fed at home, Harry?"

Harry paused. When had he said that? He thought backwards through this whole conversation. He never said that. 

"I never said that I didn't eat, Professor."

"So when you wished you were Batman so you could eat whenever you were hungry, what did you mean?"

"I got leftovers, Professor."

"Leftovers?"

Harry was astounded. Did wizards not have leftovers? He supposed not. After all, the tables just magicked themselves clear and meals were always new the next day. 

"Yeah. Whatever was left over after everyone's plates were filled."

"And was there enough on your plate for you to eat until you were no longer hungry?"

No, never. Especially not when dinner was all different foods mixed together in a casserole. Harry never ate foods that touched each other. Ever. And there were almost always weird feeling foods on his plate that he refused to eat. Mostly, the only days he ate breakfast and dinner were mashed potato days and pasta days and cereal days. 

"Only on mashed potato days and pasta days and cereal days because I couldn't eat the other days."

"Why couldn't you eat on the other days, Harry?"

"Because beggars can't be choosers, and I was too picky."

Harry loved Hogwarts because he always was able to eat at every meal because his food was exactly how he liked it. It had taken a few days of not eating before anyone realized what the problem was, and instead of sending him to bed hungry, Professor McGonagal had given him a snack while she quizzed him on what foods he liked. Ever since, he had never been hungry.

"And did Miss Tery know that you only ate on 'mashed potato, pasta, and cereal days,' Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought about that for a bit. She hadn't said anything that he could remember, but she always had an extra snack for him when he spent recess in the classroom reading his chemistry books. Maybe she just could tell he was hungry and didn't want to get him in trouble for being too picky to eat at home. That's what a friend would do, and Harry was certain she was his best friend. 

"I don't know, maybe," he said. "We had snacks during recess a lot of times."

Harry swung himself down to the ground. His head was all wobbly from being upside down and there were starting to be multiple professors. 

"What is the 'cupboard under the stairs'?"

Harry crept up right next to Professor Snape and leaned in close to his ear. 

"The closet underneath the stairwell," he whispered.

Professor Snape whispered back, "was it a big closet, Harry?"

Harry shook his head.

"Was there a bed for you to sleep on?" Professor Snape asked, still whispering. 

Harry nodded. 

"Was it a proper bed with a mattress like you have now?"

Harry shook his head.

"Were you locked in your room very often, Harry?"

Harry nodded. 

"I saw your cupboard under the stairs when I visited your home last week."

Harry froze. Oh no. 

"I needed some information from your school, and I stopped by your relatives' home along the way. It was quite the interesting visit," said Professor Snape, no longer whispering. "Your Aunt Petunia was surprised to see me there."

Harry reckoned his Aunt hated everything about Professor Snape, from how he was a wizard to how he wore all black and buttons, like the vampires she watched sometimes in her daytime dramas. Aunt Petunia loathed anything and anyone that wasn't full normal like her family, but she had a thing for vampires. Harry knew this because he heard her say so to the tv one day when she forgot he was home. It quickly became one of the things he was never to repeat again if he wanted a roof over his head. But if he wasn't going anywhere, then he had Hogwart's roof over his head, which meant he could say whatever he wanted. 

"Aunt Petunia has a thing for vampires. She said so to the telly once when I was home suspended from primary school and she forgot I was there because I was so quiet."

Professor Snape made a choking sound, and Harry looked up in alarm. 

"I will remember that bit of information for the next time I speak with your aunt, Harry. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I also met your Miss Tery, and I understand why you miss her. She is an excellent educator and mentor. We had a long conversation about you."

Harry stared at his hands and rocked back and forth. He was agitated now and wasn't sure why. He did miss his teacher and how she let him spend time in the safety of her classroom, and how she never made him feel bad about being weird, and how she just always seemed to know what he needed.

"The structural formula of a chemical compound is a graphic representation of the molecular structure, showing how the atoms are arranged. There are several different types of structural formulas. There are Lewis structures. Lewis structures are mostly used for small molecules."

"Harry, just a few more questions, and then I promise you that we can talk about chemistry."

Harry stopped speaking and just stared at the ground. This was the worst conversation.

"You said that no one would ever hit Batman, but did people hit you?"

Yes, of course they did. 

"Yeah, but I am used to it. Plus, it was only once with a frying pan. Every other time was with hands."

Harry glanced up. There was a weird look on Professor Snape's face, a scary stay-out-of-my-way face. 

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Professor. I am done."

"Alright. Thank you for answering my questions, Harry. Let's talk about chemical bonding then, shall we?"

"Yes!"


	14. I Will

Severus stared out the window in the headmaster’s office, disgusted that he was even having this conversation. His trip to Privet Lane had only served to lower his already low opinion of Muggles, and he had more questions than answers for Dumbledore. Those would need to wait until he solved the bigger problem.

“We cannot leave Mr. Potter with his relatives any longer.”

“Severus—“

“No, Albus, no.”

“Severus—“

“I don’t care what sort of magical protection you think his aunt gives him, but surely it requires an actual emotional bond.”

“Severus—“

“That bond is predicated on more than just his aunt saying he could live there.”

“Severus—“

“I cannot believe you knew how she treated him all these years, Headmaster.”

“Severus—“

“Did you even check on him once?”

“I had someone—“

“Someone? Someone saw how he was abused and did nothing? Who?”

“I was told—“

“You were told? You—“

“Severus—“

“You knew?”

“Severus, let me finish.”

“You knew and did nothing? You—“

“Severus, enough. I was told the boy—“

“Harry, his name is Harry, Albus, not some abstraction.”

“I was told that Harry was treated more harshly than his cousin—“

Severus raised his eyebrow in a skeptical challenge.

“But not that he was mistreated. Had I know he was being harmed…”

Dumbledore trailed off, seemingly aware of how weak that excuse sounded.

“I cannot undo the past, Severus.”

“No, but you can change the current situation.”

“Harry is protected at the Dursley’s—“

Severus whirled around, eyes blazing with anger at the callous disregard and injustice contained in that statement.

“No. He. Is. Not.”

“I think you underestimate—“

“No. I. Do. Not.”

“Severus, I cannot—“

“You are correct, Albus, you cannot. You cannot leave him there anymore. You cannot treat him like a tool. You cannot throw him away each summer. You cannot ignore his well-being. You cannot. Nor can I. I do not dare presume to understand the reasons behind the decision to leave Harry with his despicable relatives. I do not want to hear the justifications and rationalizations and excuses for why whatever reports of abuse—“

“Now Severus, that is hardly fair—“

“No. It is not fair. It is not fair to Harry that in your zeal to believe in happy endings and forever families that you chose to overlook warnings. You said yourself that you were given reports and yet you did nothing to help him. Abuse is more than physical scars, Headmaster.”

“What are you saying, Severus? Harry was abused in that home?”

“Harry Potter needs more resources and assistance and understanding than most children.”

Severus punctuated his words with a slam of his fist on the windowsill.

“He feels worthless and like a burden because those are the things his ‘loving’ relatives told him every day. He has been treated as someone less than equal his entire life. His cousin is allowed to treat him as a punching bag. He sleeps on a cot in a closet. He has nothing of his own, and what he was allowed to have were the broken discards of his oafish cousin.”

He locked eyes with Dumbledore and moved forward as he began speaking again.

“His aunt and uncle do only the bare minimum to keep people from reporting them to authorities. And given the perverse sympathy given to caregivers of special needs kids over care for the child themselves, is it any wonder that the Muggles were able to be more atrocious than normal without much fear of reprisal? The more difficult the child, the more leeway is given in their treatment because the less human they appear.”

Severus practically spat that out that last bit, his lip curled curled in disdain, his face practically a snarl, his disdain obvious. He was standing in front of Dumbledore’s desk, looking down at the headmaster. Dumbledore suddenly looked so very tired and old that he paused to collect himself before continuing. Perhaps he had no idea the severity of Harry’s position. 

“And as Harry is unable to communicate very easily or effectively, he is even more dependent on others to pick up on problems.”

“Severus, had I been told—“

“No, Albus. Ignorance is not absolution. It does not matter now what you would have done if only you had known. What matters now is that he does not go back to that home ever again. There are better ways to protect him in the magical world.”

“What do you propose then?”

Severus narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Now Severus—“

Severus meet the headmaster’s gaze again.

“Alright. You nullify whatever arrangement you have with those Muggles.”

“And send Harry where, Severus?”

“Here. Keep Harry here at Hogwarts. He will benefit from the stable environment, and Hogwarts is much safer than a Muggle neighborhood.”

“And were we to keep young Mr. Potter on the grounds year-round, who would be responsible for him? You said yourself that he needs more care and attention than most children.”

Severus paused. He had thought this through before coming back to the castle, but now that he was going to voice the words, he found himself uncertain about his qualifications. He took a deep breath.

“I will be responsible for him.”

The words hung in the silence for a moment.

“You will be responsible for him?”

Severus nodded his head.

“Yes.”

“Severus, I know that you took an oath to protect the him—“

“Which is why—“

“Which cannot be why.”

Perhaps the headmaster really did understand the importance of finding the proper guardian for Harry Potter after all if he wasn’t just going to hand custody to the first person who asked for it. Severus sank down into the chair in front of the desk, all fight taken out of him.

“Albus, if you do not believe that I am an appropriate guardian for Harry, please promise me that you will place him with someone who can give him the individual attention he needs and the care that he deserves.”

“My boy, I believe you are the most appropriate guardian for Mr. Potter.”

Severus looked up at the headmaster, brow slightly furrowed in confusion.

“Severus, the oath you swore all those years ago cannot be the reason you take responsibility for this young man. It is not enough. You yourself have spent the last while explaining to me exactly why there needs to be more than just an agreement.”

“Albus, I cannot let Harry go to anyone else. No wizarding family understands autism and no Muggle family understands magic, and there is no one else who understands how both act together.”

“So you understand him, Severus?”

“Yes, yes I understand him. I see so much potential in that young man, but not many people are willing to put in that work to help him reach it. I want to help him tie his shoes and tie his tie and learn sign language and encourage his love of chemistry and potions. I want to be there when he gets his magic to work how he wants it to for the first time, and all the times after that.”

Severus paused a moment to collect himself.

“I want to help him learn that his not worthless. I want to help him with his charms homework and deal with sensory difficulties. I want to be a safe place from the rest of the world. I want to help him work with his challenges. I want him to feel loved, not worthless.”

“Loved, Severus?”

“Yes, Albus, loved. Harry needs to feel loved.”

“Do you love Harry, Severus?”

Severus looked at the headmaster, the words suddenly much easier to say than he imagined they would be.

“I do. I wanted to hate him, I was prepared to hate him, but I cannot hate him, I do not hate him. It is impossible for me to hate him. Albus, that boy deserves more than he has gotten out of life. I can give him that.”

Dumbledore clapped his hands together, startling Severus, a grin replacing the somber expression. Severus also found himself smiling.

“I shall take care of the administrative details, if you want to break the good news to Harry? I imagine he will be quite pleased to stay here where he seems happy and where I trust he is much better cared for.”

Severus stood, and found himself trembling. He stared at his shaking hands. Suddenly, he found himself engulfed in a hug, a ‘bear hug’ as Harry would call it. 

“Congratulations, Severus. I am so proud.”


	15. Chapter 15

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to expect at this meeting. Talk. Thing. Professor Snape said it wasn’t a meeting, it was a talk. About the future. Which sounded ominous and sent him into a bit of an anxiety attack but only a small one. He didn’t really mind talks with Professor Snape, something his classmates didn’t seem to share. They thought the professor was scary and mean, but Harry just thought they didn't like getting caught breaking rules and being lazy and mean. His classmates liked Professor Flitwick but Harry didn’t. Harry was always made to feel like he had done something wrong and he always had the hardest time with wandwork even though he and Professor Snape were working on it three evenings a week. Harry didn't even understand why floating feathers were so important but accepted the explanation Professor Snape gave, that it wasn't really about feathers but about the spell itself. Feathers made it less likely for students to hurt themselves by lifting heavy objects they couldn’t control easily, if at all.

Ever since the suspension of the boys who attacked him, Harry felt even safer at school and he didn’t really want to go home. Well, back to the Dursely’s. It wasn’t really home the way Ron and Hermione described home. To Harry, life on Privet Drive felt more like Azkaban, the wizard prison he heard people talking about. The Dursley’s sure acted like happiness vampires, and Harry never was happy there with them. When they weren’t home it was easier to be happy, but when they were home, it was awful. Maybe that was what Professor Snape wanted to talk about. They hadn’t talked about his life at home since their conversation when Harry accidentally let it slip that Aunt Petunia hit him with a frying pan, so maybe it was time again. 

Harry hoped not because he hated talking about his home life because it was upsetting and didn’t make him feel in control. 

Harry stripped down to his shorts, his robes and uniform suddenly unbearable against his skin, and clambered atop the jungle gym in his Relaxing Room. He decided to hang upside down from his knees and run his fingers through the thick carpet.

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!” 

Harry laughed, homework and friends and anxiety completely forgotten. The carpet tickled his hands in the best way, sending jolts like electricity, but that didn't hurt like the time he was tricked into sticking a fork into an electrical outlet. 

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!”

Harry wasn’t sure why more people didn’t have trouble with clothes. Hermione said she knew someone who didn’t like labels touching their skin, but they still wore clothes. Ron tried wearing his socks inside out like Harry once but said it didn’t matter to him nearly as much as it mattered to Harry, something that Harry didn’t quite believe. It didn't seem at all possible that others could ignore the scratchy inside of cotton socks or the thick seam along the toe. And ties didn’t seem to bother anyone else the same way either. Others had a bit of trouble tying their school ties at first, but they else caught on quickly enough, and they also didn’t get the feeling of choking that a buttoned collar caused him. So much trouble for such small things.

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!”

But maybe he and Professor Snape wouldn’t have to talk about homework or clothes at all. Maybe they would just have dinner and Harry would get to talk about chemistry and an idea he had about how to use some of the plants he was growing in Herbology. Maybe he and Professor Snape would get to talk about How to Make Friends. Harry was sure he had friends, but then again he had also been sure those boys were his friends, too. Professor Snape said he wasn’t the best person to talk about making friends but that perhaps they could learn together. Harry liked the sound of that. 

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!”

Herbology was not his most favorite subject, but he liked it a lot more than Charms. He was partners with a boy named Neville who didn’t mind that Harry didn’t really talk. Neville also didn’t talk much during class, which suited Harry just fine. Talking was hard. Professor Snape suggested once that perhaps sign language would help him communicate more easily. 

Harry grinned as the door opened and Professor Snape walked in. Harry laughed because Professor Snape was upside down and walking on the ceiling.

“Upside down. Big boots. Upside down.”

He flapped his hands.

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!”

“Am I upside down or are you upside down, Harry?”

Harry paused, uncertain. 

“Both. Harry is upside down and Professor Snape is upside down. We are both upside down. Like bats. Look, batman!”

Harry flung his arms out like wings.

“Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAAAN!”

Harry watched as Professor Snape made himself comfortable on his chair. If he was told to come focus immediately, then Harry knew there was Serious Business going on, but if he was allowed to just play around for a bit, then the evening was going to be less about homework and more about just talking through the day or week.

“Harry, you have 15 more minutes and then you need to put some clothes on.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“But I don’t like those clothes anymore.”

They were itchy. And too tight in all the wrong places. And they were just wrong.

“So put on different clothes, Harry. It does not matter what you are wearing just so long as you are wearing something other than your pants and socks.”

Harry considered this. 

“No socks.”

“Fine, no socks, but yes to proper clothes,” said Professor Snape.

“No socks, no shoes, no service.”

Harry laughed.

“No socks, no shoes, no service,” he repeated. “No socks, no shoes, no service.”

Harry clapped his hands a few times. That felt fun to say. He said it a few more times to himself, ignoring Professor Snape for the time being. He didn’t have to get down yet, so he didn’t. He continued to enjoy being upside down with his hands in the carpet, gently swinging from his knees. 

“Alright, Harry, time to get dressed. No socks. No shoes.”

“No service,” finished Harry. 

He unhooked his knees and tumbled to the ground. The carpet felt amazing on his skin and he lay there making air angels until some soft material landed on his face, startling him.

“Sweats.”

“Yes, Harry, those are your sweats.”

“Clothes make my skin feel on fire,” said Harry, still not wanting to get dressed.

“These will not, so please put them on.”

“But—“

“No, Harry,” said Professor Snape, “you need to put them on. At least put the bottoms on.”

“No socks.”

“No socks.”

“No shoes.”

“No shoes,” repeated Professor Snape.

“No shirt.”

“No shirt.”

“Because shirts hurt right now, Professor.”

“As do socks.”

“Yes, and socks, how did you know?”

Harry was certain Professor Snape knew everything about everything. 

“Because you took them off with the rest of your clothes.”

“Oh.”

“Please get dressed, Harry,” said Professor Snape as he picked up the sweat pants from the floor and handed them to Harry.

Harry pulled them on, swaying first on one foot then the other, then finally grabbing onto Professor Snape for balance. 

“Easy does it,” said the professor. “If you want to see Madam Pompfery we can arrange to do so without needing actual medical care.”

Harry laughed.

This was definitely not a homework meeting, or, at least not just a homework meeting. It was nice just to spend quiet time with the professor without the pressure to master basic tasks. He was getting better, though, at getting his magic to work when he wanted it to work. He was already really good at doing magic when he didn't intend to, but the whole purpose of magic school was to learn to do magic controllably, wasn't it, so by that measure he wasn’t all that fond of school for school’s sake. What he was fond of were these evening sessions with his professor where he wasn’t expected to pretend to be normal or even pretend that things weren't bothering him. When he got to spend time here, it meant he was free to be himself and not worry about doing things wrong. He did plenty things in ways that were different than he saw everyone else doing them, but he and Professor Snape were getting better and just working with those differences rather than try to change most of them. Like with his Charms work.

Professor Flitwick was very particular about how he was to hold his wand and say the words, but it wasn't working for Harry and both were frustrated. But what he and Professor Snape discovered was that he didn’t really need to speak to get his magic to work, he just had to think it, willfully think the spell and his magic would work through his wand. The Charms professor was adamant that Harry be able to show his work, though, which didn’t exactly make much sense to Harry since the end result was that his feather floated in the air when he told it to, it was just that Professor Flitwick couldn’t hear the words in Harry’s head. Professor Snape said that just meant the Charms professor was a dunderhead and it just mattered that the spell worked.

“Professor,” said Harry, “Hermione says that Professor Flitwick says that if students can’t do the spells exactly as he says to do them that he will fail them on the exams.”

Professor Snape sighed. That was never a good thing; it meant he was tired. Harry knew that much from spending so much time with him. Sighing meant that Professor Snape was tired, but not just physically exhausted. The tiredness could be from different things, like emotions like frustration or determination or exasperation or acceptance. It had to do with the tone of the sigh, the context of the sigh. Harry sighed. He would never understand tones of voice let alone tones of sighs.

“What is the matter, Harry?”

Harry scrunched his face in concentration. He wanted to get this exactly right.

“‘What’s the matter, Harry?’’ he echoed.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” said Professor Snape.

“You sighed.”

“I did indeed.”

“That means that you’re tired.”

“It could mean that, yes.”

“But—“ 

Harry cocked his head as he thought.

“But you’re not tired.”

“I am weary of petty mulishness.”

“Pretty Moo-moo-mule-ish-ness?”

“Close. Mule-ish-ness. Mulishness. And it is petty, not ‘pretty.’ There is nothing ‘pretty’ about mulishness.”

“Like a mule? Some mules are pretty, Professor Snape. They’re also patient and work hard.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure how mules got brought into the conversation. He figured wizards didn’t need to use draft animals since they had magic to do almost anything.

“Are there magic farms? Is that where all the food come from? From magic farms? Is that where the mules are? Why are you tired of mules, Professor?”

Professor Snape laughed. Harry liked it when Professor Snape laughed because he was never made to feel stupid or left out of the joke. Whenever Harry said or did something that made Professor Snape laugh, he explained the joke to Harry. Often times the joke still wasn’t all that funny to him, but he appreciated that others found him funny even if he didn’t.   
“Not literally mules, Harry,” he said. “And we wizards and witches get our food from Muggle supermarkets and farms, same as Muggles do.”

“Really? Like Tesco?” 

Harry laughed, the image of his teachers shopping in the local Tesco amused him.

“Yes, like Tesco. Some families have gardens, but for the most part we shop with Muggles.”

“Whoa.”

“There happens to be a Tesco right down the road a bit from my home. Perhaps I will take you shopping there so you can see for yourself.”

Harry laughed again. Professor Snape was in a good mood if he was making all these jokes. 

“But then why are you tired of mules, Professor?”

“Not mules literally. Figuratively. ‘Mulishness’ is an adjective that, in this case, is describing stubbornness. When someone is mulish, they are being stubborn.”

Harry thought about that for a bit.

“So they don’t look like a mule?”

“No.”

“Not even wizards who are mulish?”

“Nor witches.”

“But in Trans-trans-transfig-or-rations class you can turn into animals. Professor McGonagall turns into a tabby cat so are there some wizards who can turn into mules or is it just cats? Can you turn into a cat? Or do just witches turn into cats?”

Harry threw himself onto his beanbag and sprawled out across its soft surface. He looked at Professor Snape sitting across from him in his rocking chair and waited expectantly for the answers to his questions.

“Some, but not all or even most, witches and wizards are Animagi, which is to say that they are able to transform themselves into an animal at will. It is a learned skill, one that takes quite a lot of work, and you will begin to learn about this in your third year with Professor McGonagall. As far as I am aware, none of my acquaintances transform into mules, and only one turns into a cat.

“Whoa.”

“I cannot turn into any animal as I am not an Animagus. It is a valuable skill, but one that I have not studied.”

“You mean a awesome skill, Professor!” said Harry.

“Yes, it as an awesome skill.”

“But so ok if no one you knows is a mule, then how come you gave a tired sigh about ‘pretty mule-ashes.”

“‘Petty mulishness,’ yes,” said Professor Snape. “And that was in response to your frustrations with Professor Flitwick.”

“Professor Flitwick is a mule?”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips.

“No, Professor Flitwick is not a mule, Harry.”

“But.”

“Professor Flitwick is acting mulish.”

“But not pretty mulish.”

“Petty. Not pretty. Petty means trivial or not important.”

“Professor Flitwick is not important?”

That astounded Harry.

“Harry, he is not important enough for you to feel badly about yourself.”

Oh right, because of how poorly he was doing in his Charms class. Harry bet there were a lot of teacher conferences about him that Professor Snape had to attend and argue in. So if Professor Snape were tired enough to sigh, then it was because of Harry causing so many troubles and problems just like the Dursley’s always said. Harry didn’t like seeing Professor Snape upset because of him. He pulled himself out of his beanbag and stood in front of the rocking chair looking at the wall behind the Professor’s head.

Professor Snape stopped rocking.

Harry stuck out his hand for a high five. 

“Up high.”

He smiled when Professor Snape gave him a high-five.

“To the side,” said Harry as he moved his hand.

After Professor Snape gave him another high-five, he lowered his hand.

“Down low.”

He pulled his hand quickly away as Professor Snape reached down to clap his palm. He laughed.

“Too slow,” he said. “Too slow. Down low, too slow. Down low, too slow.” 

Harry laughed at his joke and rocked backwards and forwards, hands dancing.

“Down low, too slow,” he repeated.

“You got me that time, Harry. Good job.”

“Good job, Harry,” echoed Harry. “Good job.”

“Good job indeed,” said Severus.

“Sorry that you’re sad because of my bad job at Charms, Professor,” said Harry.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry that you’re sad because of my bad job at Charms, Professor,” repeated Harry.

“Harry—“

“It’s like Aunt Petunia always said, that I’m too much trouble. Too much trouble. Always causing trouble. That boy will be the death of me. Never applies himself. Lazy bad boy.”

“Harry—“

“Sorry I cause you trouble, Professor. Please don’t be sad.”

“Harry, I am sad, but not because of you. Never because of you. I am sad because of how others treat you. Which brings me to what I need to talk to you about this evening. You mentioned a few things your Aunt Petunia always said about you just a few moments ago.” 

Harry nodded, then froze. He wasn’t supposed to say anything.

“Harry, it’s ok, you’re not in trouble.”

Harry relaxed. If Professor Snape said he wasn’t in trouble, then he wasn’t in trouble no matter who said otherwise, not even Aunt Petunia.

“Remember how I visited your relatives’ home?”

Harry nodded, hands clenching and unclenching, rocking slightly. Even if he wasn’t in trouble he was still anxious. 

“Harry, you cannot go back there.”

“Not until summer, Professor. No students at school during the summer. No summer school.”

“That is correct, there is no summer school and no students board here during the summer.”

“So I have to go back in the summer.”

“No, Harry, you do not.”

Harry paused, confused. 

“Harry, I’ve spoken to the headmaster—“

“Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry.”

Harry nodded.

“I’ve spoken to Professor Dumbledore about your home life. And Harry, I need you pay full attention to what I am about to say.”

Harry saluted and then stood at attention.

“Yes sir.”

Professor Snape smiled. Well, a smile was definitely preferable to a frown or a sigh, so Harry smiled, too.

“At ease, Mr. Potter.”

Harry fell back into his gentle rocking.

“Harry, after speaking with the headmaster, it’s been decided that you will be staying with me, indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely, not defined, no limits, always. Indefinitely means forever, Professor Snape.”

“Indefinitely does mean forever, Harry.”

“So I don’t have to go back to Privet Lane? Ever?”

“Never ever.”

“And I get to stay with you forever?”

“If you are amenable, yes.”

“Amendable?”

“Amenable. It means agreeable.”

“Ok yes. I am amenable.”

Professor Snape let out a long sigh. 

“You are still sad, Professor Snape?

“No, not sad, Harry. Relieved. That was a sigh of relief.”

“Ok, can we have dinner now because I am hungry.”

“Do you have any questions right now, Harry?”

“Yeah, can we have dinner? Can we have pancakes for dinner? Can we have strawberry milk pancakes with bacon for dinner?”

Harry smiled at the Professor’s laugh. 

“I think that can be arranged this evening, Mr. Potter.”


End file.
